In the Shadows
by TempleOfNothing
Summary: While searching for her sister, a young Night Elf rogue uncovers secrets deep within the Alliance that will leave them vulnerable to the Horde and learns her father, a former operative for the Ravenholdt Initiative, may have been involved in the conspiracy.
1. Chapter 1: Crossroads

"Crossroads"

"I'm an assassin, not a bloody courier." Rumer tossed her head back and let the last drip of rancid alcohol touch her tongue. In disgust, she flung the empty wineskin aside.

She and Pasha, her giant mistsaber mount and sole companion, had been trudging for miles along the Barrens' Gold Road. It was dry and hot, the sun parching the grass and their lips, and the only fools stupid enough to live in that clime were the reeking Tauren with their thick hides and hardened hooves.

"You're poor and you're drunk," Pasha said in a low growl.

That was only half true. If she hadn't spent what little gold she'd acquired through picking pockets on half-strength booze, she wouldn't have taken the menial job of delivering a package to the goblin town of Ratchet.

But she was a horrible caretaker, and Pasha deserved a warm meal and a hot bath.

For herself, she didn't care.

Afternoon heat waved over the Plains and a southerly breeze rippled the dry grass. Even the animals, kodo, giraffes, and plainstriders, all sought relief in the shade of the stubby trees.

Pasha stopped and sniffed the air. His eyesight was much better in twilight, but Rumer saw them clearly enough.

Tauren scouts at the Crossroads. A Horde camp in the middle of nowhere.

Being a descendant of one of the first races on Azeroth, Rumer had been born into the Alliance faction, and all her studies had been centered on the glory of the human bloodline of Wrynn kings and the noble Stormwind Empire. And though she was in league with neither the Alliance nor the Horde factions, her fingers sought the handles of her twin daggers all the same.

"We go around," Pasha said.

"And lose this opportunity for wealth and a bit of juicy flank?"

"They serve nature as do you, Night Elf, and live humbly off the land. You would be wasting your time looking for fortune there."

Pasha was right. He always was. And she was in no condition to fight alone against their hunters and warriors and the elements their shamans commanded.

The Crossroads outpost had always been a favorite place to raid amongst the cadets of SI:7 and the Royal Guard. They'd return from training missions with adrenaline overriding their brains and praising the King's name as they regaled their latest adventures terrorizing the minotaur-like creatures. She had always thought the cadets were stupid and never took part in their forays.

But now she saw the truth of their victories.

The Barrens was vast and mostly void of shelter or camouflage; there would be minimal places to hide, no shadows to slip into during the height of the sun. This was not the time to cross enemy lines. Only the brave (or stupid) would come here to fight.

And she was neither.

Rumer hoped the Tauren sense of smell was less developed than Pasha's. After all, how often did bovine need to hunt for food?

"Fine," she said. "We go around."

They'd taken a mere step off Gold Road onto the sandy earth when a scout targeted them.

An arrow sliced through the air just missing Rumer's right arm, and a horrifying lowing for defenses rang out.

Instinctively, she leaped onto Pasha's back, crouching low over his neck, as he sprinted towards safety some yards away behind a thicket of giant thorns.

She jumped off and held the mistsaber's face in her hands. "Head to the east and follow the cliffs. Keep low, and we'll meet in Ratchet."

"You're coming with me," he snapped.

"No. You won't be able to outrun them with me on your back. Now, go!"

"What are you going to do?"

Rumer peered through the thorny brush. "Hide," she said.

Pasha looked around at the likelihood of that. "And if that doesn't work?"

"Fight. Now, go!" She slapped him on the hindquarters and with a roar he shot out from behind cover and raced east.

Rumer didn't like this, but she wasn't about to show fear to her companion. She remembered the stories cadets told of Tauren warriors attacking with brute strength. As it were, they were twice her size, a towering mass of muscle, fur, and leather armor. It had been said that for every humanoid a Tauren killed, they added a braid to their coarse manes.

She refused to have her life commemorated in hair and began to devise a plan.

More often than not, her plans entailed stalking through the shadows and attacking from behind before her victim even noticed. This, however, was going to take much more finesse.

Perhaps she could use the Tauren physique and their braids against them. Plotting a path, she would lure them into the grove of thorn bushes several yards away.

 _If only she hadn't finished all the wine…_

Tauren scouts atop their tamed kodo dragons were fast approaching, warriors joining the hunt, but not fast enough for Rumer's taste. She said a silent prayer for Pasha's safety, then revealed her hiding place and whipped two throwing stars coated with poison as her attackers neared.

Holding her ground until the last possible moment, she sprinted toward the grove, strafing between the thorny bushes.

The Tauren were smart, or perhaps it were the kodo, but they dismounted and sought her on foot. Blades screeched through the air as the warriors began to attack. She dove between the bushes and rolled under low branches, all the while the brutes lunged after her and slammed their blades into the dry earth just a second too late.

Dust rose, and Rumer used the cloud as cover. She was agile and maneuvered easily while the hulking Tauren were not so lucky. Their fur and long braided manes caught on sharp thorns, tore from their skin, and left clumps of bloody hair behind.

The hunters who stood at range continued to fire arrows into the thick dust in hopes of striking their female enemy, but she evaded the barrage. Their warrior counterparts did not fare as well as obsidian-tipped arrowheads embedded themselves into their plate armor.

An arrow screamed by close to Rumer's face, and she just barely ducked out of the way. It would only be time before the Tauren smartened up and surrounded the grove until she was trapped. Picking her way, she moved deeper into thorns and headed toward the back.

The dust here was thick from activity that even she had trouble seeing. She heard the heavy snorting of an encroaching warrior and felt hot breath flaring from his nostrils on her face. Alcohol could desensitize many things but not the natural instincts of a long line of assassination rogues.

Her plan to snare her attackers in the thorny bushes had only managed to deter them marginally and anger them more. These warriors were used to battle scars, and the odd chunk of flesh ripped from their hides was more of an annoyance than anything.

It was time for her to fight.

Luckily, one pesky Night Elf enemy was hardly worth summoning the powerful shamans of the tribe, so a melee attack could still be possible.

Rumer unsheathed her daggers and crawled to the safety behind a thick cluster of thorny stalks. As a Tauren passed, she sprung up and slashed its neck from behind. Blood dripped and stained the dry earth dirty brown. Wheeling around, she slashed another across his belly then plunged both blades deep into its heart.

An arrow stuck fast into her back and she collapsed onto her knees. As she twisted to reach it, another lodged in her bracers. She could feel a serpent's sting begin to course through her veins. Time was running out, and she had the disadvantage once again.

Ripping the poisoned tip from her forearm, she scurried out of sight just as a volley of missiles rained down upon her. The arrow's shaft in her back broke off in the brambles, tearing flesh from between her shoulder blades, and she yelped in pain.

There was no time and she dared not remove her tunic to pull out the arrowhead. Her only chance was heading for the rocky outcropping to the east. Cutting a path from left to right would make her harder to target, but she knew she only had a minute at best before her lungs and legs would collapse.

Taking in a last deep breath and bracing for the pain, Rumer shot out of the grove and sprinted. A stream of hunters' deadly ammunition whistled through the air and stabbed the earth around her. She wove among the feathered shafts and was soon out of range from even the most elite Tauren marksmen. With any luck the scouts would clean up the bodies of their fallen brethren and return to their posts.

Slowing but not stopping, Rumer surveyed the perimeter of the outcropping; Savannah Highmanes prowled lazily in the heat and she hoped Pasha would take care crossing the plains. Though he was much larger than any of these lions, he had become somewhat domesticated since she had rescued him, and he had lost some of his survival instincts.

She pushed her worry for Pasha far back in her mind and continued to look for a safe place to rest.

A shadow fell across the face of the rocks about mid-way up the outcropping. She scrambled up to it, wincing as the arrowhead ripped deeper into her flesh. There was a crevice not large enough to call a cave but just deep enough for her to crawl into and camouflage herself against the enemy.

She unbuckled her bracers where blood and poison foamed at the open wound then stripped off her back armor and leather chest piece. Unencumbered, she reached overhead with both arms and yanked out the stubby end of the arrow. Her eyes stung with tears as she roared in pain but at last she could breathe.

With fingers smeared in dirt and blood, she wrapped a swath of cloth around her forearm and balled the rest up to press between her wounded back and the rocky wall. She grabbed the Tauren's stone-sharpened arrowhead and whipped it over the ledge, listening to it scrape against the rocks as it fell.

"Goddamned hunters!"

What she wouldn't give for a drink right now, but a quick search of her knapsack proved fruitless. In it were only two small bottles of poison and the parcel she was to deliver to an undisclosed goblin in Ratchet. She cursed the shady Human who promised she'd be paid 100 gold pieces at completion.

 _If she lived long enough._

Sighing, she let her eyes close. There would be no harm in resting just a bit until the sun set and she could head south in the shadows.

Sleep for Rumer was never more than a half-conscious state. Something terrorized her at night even in the comfort of a warm, friendly tavern. Something that kept her senses heightened even when she needed rest. It was then, in those brief moments of darkness, that she relived the night her sister was abducted and she was left alone.

Jerking awake, Rumer noticed the air was crisp and the stars shone in the clear, velvet sky. It was time to move, find Pasha, and collect her gold.

There were moments, as she crept through the shadows and darted from one covering to the next, that she cursed her life as a rogue. She could never walk along the open road or feel the sun on her face for very long. She'd been trained to be mistrustful and wary, and many times these skills had saved her life but, more often than not, they saddened her. She wandered without aim and didn't allow herself to form close relationships. Her father had betrayed her and her sister, and SI:7 had shunned them because of it.

So she drank.

The last mile to Ratchet was open plain, but Rumer had darkness on her side. She ran with fervor to the edge of the cliffs overlooking the Goblin seaport, anxiety building inside. She and Pasha hadn't been separated like this since they began traveling together, and she needed to make sure he was all right. If anything happened to him, it would be her fault, and she would never forgive herself.

She picked her way down the rocky cliffs instead of taking Gold Road into town. Goblins were generally aligned with the Horde faction, but she'd been told the ones who resided here were neutral. Unless you happened to pick a fight with them. Even so, she stuck to the shadows.

A few outbuildings stood far from the main section of town and accommodated the most feared of classes, Warlocks. And though they were often shunned by the mass populations, they had their own circles in society. Rogues, however, were discriminated against even by their own kind.

The Broken Keel Tavern sat high on a ledge overlooking the port. As she approached its entrance, a low hiss crept from behind the palm trees. Rumer turned on her heel, a dagger clutched in each hand. A ghostly white figure leaped at her, knocked her down. Two giant paws pinned her shoulders and a rough, thick tongue licked her face.

"Your breath stinks, Pasha," Rumer said with a laugh.

A purr erupted in his throat. "So does yours," he said and continued licking.

"Okay, okay, you're hurting me." In a swift movement, Rumer posted one of his legs and flipped him over onto his back. She allowed herself to steal a short hug against his furry neck before she got up.

Wiping the spit off her face, she said, "I've got a package to deliver, so make yourself scarce."

Pasha purred again, nodding, and bounded back to the shadows of the palm trees.

Brushing off what little dirt from her clothes she could, Rumer entered the inn.

Her eyes shifted over the inhabitants: an Orc peon who'd seen better days, a few Human deckhands, and an Undead female leaning against a wooden post. She chose a seat in the corner where she could still see the door and ordered the strongest ale the innkeeper had to offer.

When he arrived with her drink, she set the package down on the table. The Goblin eyed it suspiciously.

"Know someone who might be waiting for this?" she asked.

Innkeeper Wiley sneered and said, "Not offhand, but I've seen that symbol before."

Rumer had barely noticed the blue smudge on the upper left-hand corner of the package before she had shoved it into her knapsack and accepted the quest. But now as she looked at it, it seemed familiar. The lighting in the tavern from a few stumps of candles and a torch flaming at the far end of the room was poor and, when she looked up to inquire further, Wiley was gone.

In his place stood a magnificent male Blood Elf with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

"I believe you have something of mine," he said and slid into the seat across from her.

The Blood Elves were known for their slim, athletic builds and delicate, feminine beauty almost as much for their addictive and destructive natures, and Rumer was having a hard time keeping her thoughts focused. She pulled the package closer to her nonetheless.

"My payment?" she asked.

The Blood Elf laughed heartily. "Spoken like a true mercenary." He spilled a pouch of gold coins onto the table and raised his eyebrows at her.

Hungrily, she snatched it up but wouldn't relinquish the package. Curiosity got the better of her, and she wanted to know what could be worth so much to him.

"Maybe it's worth more. After all, I almost got killed at the Crossroads trying to deliver it."

"You should recognize the seal, my dear Whisperra. Or have you forgotten?"

The blood in Rumer's veins ceased to flow and a high-pitched ring sounded in her ears.

Her voice came out hushed and husky when she spoke. "How do you know that name?"

The Blood Elf's eyes widened slightly as he sat back in his chair. A softer look replaced his haughty expression. "I should have known," he said almost to himself then reached out his hand in greeting. "I am Captain Thalo'thas Brightsun, a mercenary ship runner, and you are her sister? The resemblance is uncanny."

Rumer's brain reeled and it wasn't from the Innkeeper's ale.

"You know her? She's alive?" She jumped up from her seat and towered over him, slamming her palms against the rough wooden table.

"Breathe, child. I saw her some time ago on my last trip through here. She was alive and well."

"Where is she? What happened to her?"

"I don't know. She was gone before morning. But I overheard her talking that night in the shadows when she thought I was sleeping."

"What did she say?"  
"She spoke of your father. His execution."

"Yes, for treason," she spat out. Her father, Ebon Nightblade, had been a spy amongst the King's operatives and he'd been caught trading secrets with the Horde. It was the reason she could not return to her beloved home in Teldrassil. It was also the reason she'd been exiled from SI:7 and her sister had been abducted.

Brightsun's eyes warmed a shade. "It was a conspiracy, she said. And your sister found out who gave the orders."

Rumer shook the thought around her brain. A conspiracy to kill their father? No, she wouldn't believe it. She had heard the charges brought against him. She had heard him admit his crime to them. If he wasn't guilty, he would have surely defended himself. No, Whisperra must have been wrong.

But her sister was alive. And she must find her.

"I believe you still have my package," Brightsun said not unkindly, breaking her thoughts.

Rumer looked down at it, at the blue seal she had thought had just been a smudged stamp. Where had she seen it before?

Of course. The Alliance's royal seal.  
"Do you know who she was talking to that night?"

Brightsun took the package and stood up. "No, but Grimble will. He's the shipmaster down on the docks. No one passes through this port without his knowledge."

Capatin Brightsun started to walk away then turned back. He threw a sparkling gem on the table in front of her. "This should be more than enough to clean up you and your cat and make further inquiries. I do hope you find your sister. Give her my best."

Rumer nodded and snatched up the gem.

 _I will._


	2. Chapter 2: Beginnings

"Beginnings"

Before she headed outside to check on Pasha, Rumer bought a round of drinks for the tavern's patrons and told Innkeeper Wiley to keep them coming.

"Stay," she told the High Elf and handed him a stein of ale. "It's the least I can do for your generosity." Though she was careworn and dirty, the Night Elf's beauty showed through the grime, her glowing white eyes reflecting candlelight and flames. She smiled at him in a way no one could resist.

Brightsun tipped his head back and laughed. "You are like your sister in many ways. I cannot refuse." He took the drink and lounged back in the privacy of the corner table.

Good, Rumer thought, then it shouldn't take long to find out more about that package.

With one gulp, she downed the first taste of alcohol she'd had all day and visited the butcher. He cut a few tender wolf steaks for Pasha and cooked one up especially for her. The tip she gave him was more than enough to compensate from taking him away from his nighttime revelry.

"Who loves you?" Rumer asked as she threw one of the raw steaks to Pasha.

A deep purr escaped from his throat before he caught the meat and devoured it. She sat down in front of him and sunk her teeth into her own medium-rare steak. It melted like butter in her mouth and she gave a silent toast to the butcher for preparing a feast that for once didn't include fish.

"Come on," she said, tossing the second piece of fleshy meat to the giant cat, and started walking away. "We don't have much time, and I have to get back."

"Where are we going?" Pasha asked with well-deserved suspicion in his voice.

"To clean up."

He whined, but Rumer knew he would feel better after an extended dunk in seawater.

They waded over to a small inlet where she stripped off her leather and unbuckled Pasha's saddle, harness, and reins. She did much coaxing and splashing to get his fur completely drenched then rubbed perfumed soap all over both of them.

"Where'd you get that?" Pasha hissed.

"I lifted it off a vendor in Ashenvale. Don't you want to smell pretty?"

He snarled in response and snapped at her as she tried to scrub him.

"Suit yourself. I have work to do." The moonlight sparkled on her wet, silvery skin as she slipped back into her leggings and torn shirt. The rest of her armor needed a breather, but she made sure to strap her daggers back on.

Thalo'thas Brightsun was waiting for her in the tavern. She sat next to him and ordered more ale. She hadn't met anyone she couldn't out drink and hoped this Blood Elf would be no different. She couldn't help but wonder what he would be doing at the receiving end of a package with the royal Alliance seal. Was he a Silvermoon spy or a traitor to the Horde? How had he come to know her sister so intimately, and what more did he know about her father's execution?

No! She wouldn't think about that. Her father had been a traitor to the Alliance and to her family. He'd left them penniless and in peril.

Brightsun was good company for her. He had a mischievous sense of humor and he was easy on the eyes. The two drank and coerced the Orc peon into carousing with them. After more than a few draughts of ale, the blonde High Elf finally began to show signs of intoxication. Slipping from his seat, slurring his words, and laughing at everything Rumer said, it didn't seem likely he would notice a quick pickpocket of the mysterious package.

Nevertheless, Rumer decided to create a distraction. The Orc was becoming belligerent and, using it to her advantage, she insinuated to him that the Human deckhands in the back of the tavern were itching for a fight. Of course, the peon didn't think twice and stomped over to them with fists swinging.

While the mercenary ship runner was caught up in the excitement, cheering for his fellow Horde, Rumer slipped behind him and pulled the package from his knapsack. With the stealth of a black cat, she crept out of the inn.

Just as she was about to open it, a hand clamped down on her wrist.

"I do believe that's mine." Captain Brightsun no longer had the flushed cheeks or the glazed eyes of a drunken Blood Elf. Instead, he was the perfect picture of sobriety.

 _The bastard tricked me!_

Rumer was not about to give up so easily, but this time she wouldn't resort to playing games.

"Your allegiance is to the Horde as mine is to the Alliance," she said. "And you are in possession of a communiqué from the royal house of Stormwind. It is my duty to see what dealings you have with them."

Though Brightsun loosened his grip on her, she did not loosen hers on the package.

"What do you think you will find, Night Elf?" The haughty look returned to his face.

"I'll tell you after I open it. Now will you let me go or do I have to use my wiles against you?"

Just then, Pasha walked up to the couple. He stood possessively and protectively against his mistress's leg and let a low snarl escape his lips.

Brightsun grinned and unhanded her. "Please do open it then use your wiles against me anyway."

Rumer stepped back as Pasha stepped between them. She tore the paper from the package.

It was a leather-bound journal with the Stormwind emblem burned into the cover that when she tried to open it, Brightsun slammed it shut and snatched it out of her hand.

"What is this?" she asked.

"It is none of my concern," he answered in a voice as smooth as the finest silk in Darnassus. "I am merely the messenger."  
In one swift movement, Rumer had the blade of her dagger to the High Elf's throat. "Who do you work for?"

"You have a lot to learn, young rogue." His words dripped with condescension. "If you wish to take on the mighty Stormwind Empire, you would be wise to find your sister first."

Pasha hissed, and she pressed the blade further into the flesh of his neck. "I don't care about Stormwind. I'm just trying to find my sister. What does she have to do with this?"

In an invisible flourish, Captain Brightsun had removed himself from his position, pulling Rumer to his chest and forcing her own dagger to her throat.

His face was so close she smelled the ale on his breath and felt his lips against her ear as he spoke.

"She is the key that will unlock the corruption behind those great stone walls."

Pasha pounced, but Brightsun had already released his hold and was several steps away with the journal in his hand.

He turned back, sincerity flashing in his blue eyes. "Find her," was all he said and continued down to the dock.

"No!" The giant saber was about to lunge after him when Rumer held him back.

Pasha snarled. "Do you believe him?"

She watched the Blood Elf walk to where his ship was waiting to receive him. There'd been something about him, the way he'd spoken of her sister, the way he'd let Rumer think she'd gotten the upper hand. Like he'd wanted her to find out what really happened.

Tracing the spot on her throat where the dagger had pressed her flesh, she felt warm, sticky drops of blood. There was no doubt he could have killed her if he'd wanted to. Even with Pasha standing inches away.

"Yes, I do."

Leaving the Broken Keel Tavern in drunken chaos, Rumer and Pasha took up residence by the blacksmith's burning forge. It was warm and they were alone. Soon, Pasha was contented and purring in his sleep, legs stretched out and his belly exposed. Rumer, however, permitted herself only glimpses of slumber between her swirling thoughts.

She replayed the scene of her sister's abduction over in her mind all night searching for some new bit of memory to confirm the Blood Elf's accusations.

 _It had been early spring in Teldrassil, the earth moist from the winter's snow and the nights still clear and cold. She and Whisperra, home on holiday from their SI:7 training, had been in their upstairs bedroom dressed in long nightshirts and studying their training manuals. They'd always been fascinated by Ebon Nightblade's profession in Stormwind's secret society of rogues, and in a few short years they hoped to graduate and follow in his footsteps._

 _It was then the sisters heard shouting and the pound of hoof beats fast approaching on the muddy road. They ran to the window and looked out. Dark, armored men with hideous barred helms and blazing torches stopped before their small dwelling hollowed out of a giant tree trunk._

 _Whisperra ran downstairs, leaving Rumer alone in the tiny room with one burning candle. Their father's voice had been so harsh, so commanding, as he ordered Whisperra back upstairs and to keep out of sight. With their faces huddled together, the girls spied on the confrontation below._

 _Ebon Nightblade had stood his ground before the army of monsters, his daggers gleaming green and dripping with fresh poison._

 _"What vile creatures are you that plague my doorstep?" he'd asked._

 _The largest of the armored men dismounted and walked up to their father as if he hadn't heard the question. Or hadn't cared. A scroll was produced by another of the army and unrolled._

 _In an echoing, metallic voice, the monster began to speak. "Special Operative Commander Ebon Nightblade of the Ravenholdt Initiative you have hereby been charged with treason against the King of Stormwind, His Majesty Varian Wrynn, and the entire Alliance faction. How do you plead?"_

 _"What evidence do you have of this?" their father had asked just as fiercely._

 _"The evidence in your handwriting has been recovered by SI:7 along with the Blood Elf in possession of it." He had thrown something to the ground before Ebon, who snatched it up to inspect it._

 _"And what does Mathias Shaw say? I answer to no one but him."_

 _Rumer and Whisperra had been under tutelage of Master Shaw, the leader of SI:7, since they had become of age. He had been a pleasant enough Human with a fatherly affection for them and had given them the privilege of training as assassins when it was nearly unheard of for females. But Master Shaw had been impressed with their skills, and he'd regarded their father as both his ally and his best friend._

 _"It is his signature on the Order of Execution."_

Impossible! _Rumer's brain had screamed. She wouldn't believe Master Shaw had betrayed her father like that._

 _Though it had been almost imperceptible, she noticed the slump of defeat in her father's shoulders as if he had been expecting this._

" _Innocent or guilty? What say you, Commander Nightblade?" the metallic voice asked again from deep within the helm._

 _Ebon spat in the direction of the armored monster then said, "Be it known that Ebon Nightblade, Commander of Special Operations in the Ravenholdt Initiate admits to treason against the corruption of the Stormwind Empire and the entire faction of Alliance races."_

 _Rumer had watched through blurry tears as her father was disarmed then bludgeoned with fist weapons and maces._

 _Never once did he fight back._

 _Trying to shield her sister's eyes from the spectacle below, Whisperra had been too late. Rumer had already seen the armored monster's giant sword swing in a wide arc, slice through the air, and sever through her father's neck._

 _She had cried out and slammed her pale palms against the window. The monster who had executed her father heard and looked up to the dimly lit window. And saw her face._

 _Whisperra, sobbing herself, scooped Rumer up and brought her downstairs to the hidden door in the floorboards. She handed her a lantern and a box of matches from the mantle._

 _"Be wary of spinnerets and follow the tunnel to the end. Once you are in Darnassus, stick to the shadows and tell no one your name."_

 _"Aren't you coming?" Rumer asked._

 _"I'll meet you there. There are things I must recover first," Whisperra answered._

 _Rumer had known what she'd meant. She was planning on going after the evidence the army had charged their father with. "No! I can't make it all that way without you. Come with me, please!"_

 _But her sister pushed her farther down the ladder into the tunnel and shut the trapdoor._

 _Rumer had stood in the pitch black of the carved out tree trunk breathing in the damp, rotten wood. Overcome with fear, her hands clenched around the wooden rungs while she tried to peer between the floorboards into the room above._

 _She heard scurrying and the ring of blades as Whisperra gathered their father's weapons. And then the splinter of the front door as an axe chopped through it._

 _There'd been no sound other than the heavy footfall of the armored executioner who'd entered. Through the knotholes, Rumer had witnessed her sister, baring a dagger twice her size, defend herself against the monster. She'd moved with the same grace and agility she'd shown while training in SI:7, slipping from shadow to shadow, and tumbling just out of reach._

" _My, you are a lively one," the metallic voice had echoed. "I'm sure the Master will be pleased with you." Then he unsheathed his sword and brought it down on the table trapping Whisperra between it and the wall._

 _She didn't scream or beg for her life when the arm had reached out and snatched her up, but Rumer had seen her sister's legs dangling and struggling in its grasp._

" _Shh, now, pretty young thing. I wouldn't dream of hurting you."_

 _The footsteps receded out of their small home._

 _And that was the last Rumer had seen of her sister._

The light of morning broke early, and at the first clang of the passenger ship's arrival, Rumer and Pasha were awake and heading down to the dock.

"What do you think was in that journal?" Pasha asked.

Rumer's thoughts were still lost in the dark memories of her childhood. Two things had stood out this time—first, her father had been in league with a Blood Elf, and she had reason to believe it was Captain Brightsun. Secondly, the executioner must have taken Whisperra to none other than Master Mathias Shaw. If anyone knew what had happened to her sister, it would be him.

"Something that could destroy the Empire."

"Do you care?"

"Not unless it helps me find my sister."

Shipmaster Grimble was a cranky Goblin with a ruddy face and a skeptical look in his eye. "Talk to me," he said as Rumer kneeled before him.

"Do you remember a Night Elf named Whisperra Nightblade staying here?"

The Goblin's red eyes narrowed and scrutinized her up and down. In the grating, cartoony voice all Goblins had, he said, "Come to think of it, you do resemble her. But then all Night Elves look alike. She dressed a bit nicer though."

Rumer was in no mood to hear how shabby her armor looked or how bad it smelled. There would be time enough to buy fresh leather later when she reached a decent sized town.

"What do you know of her?" she asked instead.

He scratched a floppy ear with gnarled fingers. "Whisperra. A beautiful name for a beautiful face. She didn't stay long. A fortnight is all. Seemed to know Captain Brightsun well."

"How long ago was that?"

"Maybe a season or two ago. Hard to tell. The weather never changes here. But she was waiting for someone. Wanted to know when he got here."

Rumer clapped her hands. "Yes, a man. Do you remember him?"

"He wasn't a man at all. Just one of those pesky, little Gnomes. An arrogant thing shooting fireballs all over the docks. And insolent too! He polymorphed Innkeeper Wiley into a sheep for not having fresh cinnamon rolls. Let's see, his name was …" It took forever for the shipmaster to think of it. "Glittergold! Elder Glittergold! And if he ever sets foot in my town again, I'll have that puny mage turned into ogre kibble!"

"If I see him, I'll be sure to tell him. Now, where did he go?"

"Made sure to ship him out on the first flight to Theramore. Let the sea monster deal with him."

"Did Whisperra go with him?"

The shipmaster rang the bell signaling the _Maiden's Fancy_ was about to leave port. "She crept out of here in the middle of the night, but if she followed him there, I don't know."

Rumer thought back to her knowledge of Theramore in Dustwallow Marsh. The reports about the sea monster were accurate, but that was hardly worth visiting the seaside fortress for. What business would the Gnome have there so far from home? Finding Elder Glittergold was her only hope of tracking down her elusive sister.

"Will this ship take me there?" she asked Grimble.

"Nope," he said. "This one goes to Booty Bay. A rough port, that one is. But I'm sure you can buy passage on one of the merchant ships." He pointed to one sailing some distance away.

Captain Thalo'thas Brightsun's long, blonde hair streamed out in the ocean breeze. He stood commandingly at the ship's wheel and waved farewell. Rumer smiled, though forlornly, and waved back.

Picking the Goblin's pocket, Rumer came up with some loose change. "Thank you, Shipmaster," she said and offered it back to him as a tip.

Grimble chuckled. "Glad I could help."

She led the way up to the flightmaster with Pasha grumbling behind.

"You know I how I feel about flying."

"You don't have a choice. Unless you'd rather run into those Tauren again."

The saber roared in response. "We ride. This time I lead."


	3. Chap 3: The Few, the Proud, the Marines

"The Few, the Proud, the Marines"

Pasha was more than capable of leading the way to Dustwallow Marsh; he could smell changes in the air and sense prey or predators better than Rumer could. That didn't stop her, though, from keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. It was in her blood, and the wound in her back from the Crossroads' Tauren still stung. Besides the gods only knew what other vile creatures would await them.

With the sea to their left and the Northern Barren cliffs to their right, they headed south. The ride would not be long, the flightmaster in Ratchet had assured them, but the route would be plagued with enemies. Her threadbare leather armor was not capable of withstanding much more damage, and she wasn't keen on being ambushed.

At the crest of a long hill, Pasha's nose began sniffing and twitching in the breeze. Men in full metal armor were milling around tented encampments and, as Rumer and Pasha continued to walk, they noticed Theramore Marines guarding the merchant shipping docks and sharpshooters practicing their archery skills.

The fur bristled on Pasha's neck. "This doesn't look good," he said and proceeded with caution.

It wasn't until they were almost to the berthed ship that a Human soldier approached and halted them.

"Lieutenant Buckland, Northwatch Expeditionary Unit," he said and saluted them. "What business brings you here?"

Rumer dismounted her companion and greeted him. "We're taking the low road to Theramore. I believe this is the way?"

He glanced south along the route. "It is, but it's not open to civilians. There's a battle going on here, and it isn't safe."

"What's the battle?" she asked, stealing a quick glance at Pasha.

"Trolls! They've invaded Northwatch Hold. We believe some of our men are trapped inside the fortress. We've been trying to reach them, but the Trolls have it surrounded. So far the few cutthroats we've managed to capture haven't provided us with much useful information."

Trolls were nasty, vile creatures Rumer never wanted to encounter. From what she'd heard, they were often gaunt and hunchbacked, with greenish moss growing on their skin and yellowed tusks curling up from their lower jaws.

And that was just the women.

It were these frail and primal features that made them seem simple-minded and easy to kill. However, her SI:7 studies taught her that Trolls often resorted to cannibalism to render their enemies' and enemies' spirits impotent and relied on voodoo for overcoming fatal wounds and regenerating damaged limbs. Even plate armor was no match for their magic.

"What do they want with Northwatch?"

"To secure a foothold, no doubt. The Horde must be plotting a takeover. Ships full of Orcan grunts and Darkspear Trolls keep landing ashore."

Rumer wasn't drunk enough to engage in battle for a cause she didn't care about, especially at the risk of being eaten. All that mattered to her was finding the mage Glittergold and her sister before the Horde captured their destination too.

"Is there any way around?" she asked the lieutenant.

"Not from here. That road," he pointed to the gravel path leading up the cliff, "leads straight into enemy lines. By shore, you'd have to cross the inlet unless you want to risk backtracking around the Great Divide. No telling what danger you'll encounter inland."

"I know what you're thinking," Pasha said under his breath to her. "And I don't like it."

With a furrowed brow, Rumer answered him just as hushed, "It's the only way." Aloud, she asked Lieutenant Buckland, "Are you going to stop us?"

He sneered, obviously unconvinced that a lone female and a giant cat could pass through safely. "It's not up to me. That's Admiral Hartley's call."

He pointed deeper into camp at the imposing figure of the Rear Admiral holding his post closest to the enemy lines.

"Back!" Hartley said as they approached. "Turn back to Ratchet and catch the next flight out of here. This is a warzone!"

"See?" Rumer said to Pasha. Things would have been so much easier if they'd just taken the hippogryph. But no, he had to be a big baby about it.

Pasha just snorted.

"We must pass. My sister's life depends on it." _Sort of._ "She's just over the border in Dustwallow Marsh, and it would take time I don't have to travel back from Theramore."

Rear Admiral Hartley sized her up. "This is a battle between the Alliance and the Horde. If you cross into enemy territory, your allegiance to them will be noted."

Rumer's eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared as wide as Pasha's when he was tracking prey. How dare he accuse her of taking anyone's side but her own. She walked close to the Human and spoke through clenched teeth. "I have no loyalty except to my sister. You will let us pass."

Courage that she did not feel punctuated her words, and tense seconds ticked away as the two stared each other down.

It was Admiral Hartley who gave in first. "Then do so at your own risk. I will spare no body bag for you." He stepped aside and motioned for them to make haste.

She nodded with a stiff smile. "I'd rather be cremated anyway."

Mounting Pasha, she saluted the Admiral, and then with a nudge of her heels against the saber's flank, they started.

It was easy enough to skirt around a few Orcan scouts by creeping along the rocky coastline. But as Rumer and Pasha crossed the shallow inlet of the Great Divide, the Horde numbers increased. Here they saw towers of smoke from the smoldering fortress reaching into the sky. It was then that Pasha said, "We can't leave those men trapped up there with the Trolls. They'll be sacrificed and eaten."

Rumer stared in disbelief. "What do you expect me to do? I'm not a Marine."

"No, but you've been trained as an assassin and a spy. You could at least find out how many are alive and report to the admiral."

"We don't have time."

"It's not like we're going to make it through there alive by ourselves."

Her blood pressure was beginning to rise. She didn't know how long ago Elder Glittergold had left for Theramore or how long he was going to stay there. What Pasha suggested was cutting into that dwindling time. Leave it to her to rescue a cat with noble morals. Besides, she didn't work well with others, and this would be a lot of others.

But something gnawed at her soul as well. She was beginning to go soft, and she didn't like it.

"Fine. If we get to Theramore and the mage is gone, I'm feeding you to the sea monster."

She could have sworn Pasha grinned.

Motioning for him to take refuge further into the chasm, she began her survey.

The grunts were busy moving supplies, so it was easy enough to sneak up behind them and, with the butt end of her dagger, sap them unconscious one by one while she rifled through their pockets. More often than not, she came up with loose change, but sometimes she'd find other oddities like a hickory pipe, a recipe book, or a gentleman's magazine. None of that was worth anything, except maybe entertainment on cold nights.

She had already decided she was completing this mission without bloodshed. It would be weeks before she could wash the stink of a dead Troll from her hair.

Keeping to the shadows, she made it up the steep incline toward the Hold's front gate. There she heard the clashing of swords, the battle cries of Northwatch defenders, and the affirmation of impending Trollkind victory.

As she slinked around the crumbled walls of the fort, she saw pockets of fighting with as many as five Trolls against one Alliance soldier. Her hands were itching. She wanted to get in there, but that wasn't her objective. A dead rogue was no help to anyone.

Quickly, she finished the survey and scurried down the cliff face into the Great Divide. Pasha was waiting and carried her back to the encampment.

"Heeding my word, are you?" Admiral Hartley asked when they stopped before him.

"There are a dozen of your men fighting against at least fifty of the Darkspear," she said. "Some are wounded or dead, but they haven't given up. Round your men, and I'll get them to the Hold safely."

From his hesitation, it was clear the admiral was not used to taking orders from a civilian. Nor a female for that matter. But he relented and within seconds had assembled a party of his best soldiers.

"Let's get my men back alive," Hartley said to Rumer. She nodded in response.

The men were to wait in the shallow water at the bottom of the chasm until she gave the signal. It would be up to her to distract the enemy long enough for the Marines to climb up to the stone wall surrounding the fort.

She gurgled down the entire contents of a wineskin she'd stolen from Brightsun's knapsack last night and tossed it aside when she was done.

Her nerves temporarily steeled and Hartley following behind, she slinked up to the first Troll. The soldiers would have only a minute to move forward between the time she sapped the first enemy and distracted the others. She silently wished the Marines good luck.

Striking the nearest hunchbacked Darkspear on the back of the neck, she gave the signal to Hartley and immediately threw down a ring of distraction. At once the Trolls began to wander in circles like zombies.

The Marines, in all their clanging armor, reached the top of the hill and hid against the fortress's stone wall just seconds before the effects wore off. From there, Hartley separated the men into groups, and Rumer assigned their posts.

Once all were in position, she nodded to the admiral who gave the signal, and they attacked as one. Some rappelled down from the top of the turrets, some hurdled over broken walls, and still others charged into combat.

She couldn't help but join the battle and finish off the mortally wounded Trolls in one pocket before moving on to the next. The Northwatch defenders' spirits were lifted, and they fought with renewed vigor despite pain and wounds.

With the help of the Theramore Marines, Rear Admiral Hartley, and a wayward assassin, the Hold was secured within the hour. The fort had suffered structural damage, but nothing that couldn't be rebuilt with time and effort. As fires blazed, the Marines sifted through the bodies of both fallen Trolls and Alliance soldiers, throwing enemy corpses onto the makeshift funeral pyres. The stench of death and burning flesh choked the air.

Surveying the activity, Admiral Hartley summoned Rumer to his side.

He remained silent for some time, and she wondered if he was mourning the loss of his men or reveling in a battle well fought. Maybe a little of both. Regardless, she knew enough to keep quiet.

Finally, he straightened and turned to her. "You fought bravely. You were trained well."

In the brief time Rumer was under Master Mathias Shaw's tutelage at SI:7, she had learned more than just skill in combat and tactical application; she had learned patience and focus. She had not been distracted by the call to glory as some of her peers had been. She had only wanted to make her father proud.

That dream had ended with his execution, but sometimes she wished she was still in it.

"It was an honor to fight by your side," she said.

Pasha bounded up to them just then, and she climbed into the saddle. "We must leave for Theramore now, Admiral."

Hartley let forth a sharp whistle signaling over two soldiers on horseback. "My men will see you across the border. Stay to the shore and they will take care of the murlocs for you."

He saluted, and Rumer returned the farewell gesture.

"You did the right thing," Pasha said to her when the soldiers were a considerable distance ahead.

She scoffed. "Don't think I'm coming to the rescue of every bleeding heart we come across. From now on I've only got a mind to find my sister. And nothing is getting in the way."

"We'll see," Pasha answered and sped up a little.

As they crossed the border, the air became warmer with a salty breeze coming off the water.

Pasha's long fur was curling up around his neck, and for once Rumer was relaxed. She loved the freedom of running on the beach. Perhaps it was because the threat of danger was much less here than being surrounded inland, or that beyond the expanse of water lay new lands with new adventures and new hope. But whatever it was, she would close her eyes for just a few seconds and breathe.

The giant saber stopped abruptly and, jerking her eyes open, Rumer saw the stilted huts of a Murloc village in the distance.

Known for their spear-chucking skills and shamanistic spells, Murlocs were an ancient and unknown race with amphibian qualities. They attacked in packs and retreated to the water where still more numbers waited to fight. Most non-fishlike races knew not to engage the Murlocs alone. It was dangerous and stupid, but every so often there would be gossip of a thick-headed warrior who'd ignored the warnings and succumbed to the masses.

One of the Marines turned to Rumer. "Stay between us as we ride through. We'll hold threat to keep them off you."

For once, she wasn't going to argue. Situating herself between the two horses, she refreshed her blades with Mind-numbing poison and kept her head low as they charged toward the village.

From all directions, Murlocs converged on them.

"Mmmmrrrrggglllrrrrgggglllgggrrrrggglll!" they called out in their garbled language.

Rumer aimed her throwing knives at the shamans by the water's edge. With any luck, the more stacks of poison they absorbed, the more time it would take for them to cast their spells. This would allow both her and the Marines to escape relatively unharmed.

They were chased for quite a distance despite the clumsy maneuverings of Murlocs on land, so when the last spear lodged its head in the sand and the last crackle of lightning balls dissipated, the group stopped.

"You should be safe from here," the soldier in charge said. "And good work back at Northwatch. You're welcome to fight with us anytime."

Rumer just bowed her head in thanks. "Safe journey."

They parted ways.

The rest of the ride to Theramore was free from dangerous mobs save a few shipwrecked Defias rummagers. She couldn't resist the off-chance they might be in possession of smuggled rum, so she decided the few seconds it would take to pick their pockets would be well worth it. The Human had only a few spare copper, but the Goblin was in possession of a trunk filled with glorious bottles of dark, amber, and white rum.

Rumer took as much as she could carry back to Pasha and popped one of the corks. The warm liquid burned a trail down her throat and ignited a small fire in her stomach. Her eyes squinted and watered, and she shook her head.

"Good stuff?" Pasha asked with a snarl in his voice.

It was stronger than anything she'd tasted before, and she was already beginning to feel lightheaded. "Maybe we should get going," she answered.

She knew Pasha hated her drinking, but it wasn't like she turned obnoxious and, if it weren't for her drunken escapades, she never would have stumbled upon this majestic cat chained in a cage and being tortured.

But that was a different story, and they didn't speak of those days.

When the beach ended, they turned uphill and met up with the main road into the seaside fortress.

Theramore was surrounded by a huge stone wall, and fully-armored guards wearing the city's crest on their tabards stood watch at the gate.

"Try not to look suspicious," Pasha said. "If that's possible."

"Just keep your eyes open for the Gnome," she said.

Walking, they entered the port.


	4. Chapter 4: Chock Full of Chok'sul

"Chock Full of Chok'sul"

The tenuous state of peace in the port town was augmented by the patrolling guards and soldiers practicing their sword and ranged skills. It was of some comfort to Rumer that the graveyard by the main gate was small.

From what she'd heard, Theramore had been the only Alliance military stronghold on the continent, and political tension between its residents was high. Not only did they have to contend with frequent attacks from the sea monster, Tethyr, but from Ratchet pirates invading the rocky island as well. If an unauthorized ship dared sail near the port, it fell victim to the army's cannon fire.

"All I smell is Human," Pasha said, his nose twitching.

"Then it should be easy for someone to remember a Gnome passing through."

They approached the Dwarven flightmaster. "I'm looking for a Gnome," she said.

"Only two Gnomes be here. The engineer, ole Caz Twosprocket, and Babs Fizzletourque, who lives out at the lighthouse."

Pasha raised an eyebrow as Rumer shrugged.

"The one I'm looking for is a mage. He might have stopped here within the last few months."

The Dwarf stroked his long beard in contemplation. "Go see Babs. She may be far from land, but she keeps her eye on things."

Rumer flipped the flightmaster a few loose coins in appreciation for his help.

Stopping halfway down the path to the rocky shore, Pasha hissed at the lapping waves. "You don't mean to cross here, do you?"

She turned in disbelief. "It's a lighthouse. On an island."

"I'm not going," Pasha said and sat down on his haunches.

Knowing better than to argue with the stubborn cat, she said, "Fine. You stay here and I'll swim over."

"You're not getting on my back all sopping wet."

Rumer advanced on Pasha and, with hands on her hips, said, "Then you won't eat."

"I'm sure I can fend for myself."

She huffed and unstrapped her daggers then dove into the murky water, swimming several meters to the small, rocky outcropping with the lighthouse.

A female Gnome was waiting for her when she emerged from the water. She was diminutive in size, but her cone-shaped bun added at least another foot to her stature. Her eyes were large and round and her countenance cheerful.

"Babs Fizzletourque?" Rumer asked.

"Greetings," she said in a pleasant, high-pitched voice. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for someone." Rumer paused to wring out her soaking hair. "A Gnome mage named Elder Glittergold. I have it on good authority that he might have visited Theramore recently. I need to find him. Do you know him?"

Babs giggled behind her hand, and a blush crept over her cheeks. "I certainly do."

Rumer smiled to herself. It was obvious from the little lighthouse keeper's reaction she was smitten.

"He's at Beezil's Wreck in the marsh tinkering with the machine that crashed there."

"Great. Can you show me the way?"

Babs took a stick and drew a map in the sandy earth, then her face scrunched up and her eyes grew wider. "Is that mold growing on your armor?"

Following the Gnome's gaze, Rumer's eyes landed on the dark green patches of fungus living on the knees of her leggings. She reddened in embarrassment.

"There's a tanner in the city you can purchase new armor from. And you probably should. Glitter has an aversion to odor."

Lovely, Rumer thought. Just what she needed.

Just as she was about to dive back into the water, Babs stopped her. "Take my boat, and tell him his supper is getting cold."

Pasha wasn't waiting for her when she landed ashore. Instead, she witnessed him snatching freshly caught fish off a drying rack and running off to dine in peace and safety. The fishing supplier was none too thrilled, and he chased after Pasha waving a fishing pole and shouting obscenities.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Rumer scooped up the rest of the fish and hid them in her bag. She set off to find the tanner.

Her new armor was stiff, but it smelled like leather and it wasn't discolored from mold and blood. She would get used to it somehow, though her days of pick-pocketing were over until she stopped creaking.

She found Pasha basking in the sun along one of the catapults, content from his mid-afternoon snack.

"Let's saddle up. We're off to Beezil's Wreck."

Stretching, Pasha finally made it to his feet and nodded at Rumer's new attire with approval. "At least they're not shorts."

"I'm never going to live that armor down, am I?"

A smile curled up over his teeth. "Nope."

The two rode across the newly-constructed bridge that connected Theramore to the mainland. Despite the murkiness that pervaded the marsh, flashes of red and white lit up the hills to their left and the sound of sizzling overpowered the chirping frogs.

"Why do I have a feeling that's where we're headed?" Pasha asked.

"Because it is."

Begrudgingly, he carried Rumer toward their destination.

She surveyed the area and noticed a flying contraption of Goblin craftsmanship had crashed into the swamp. Emanating from various pieces of the damaged power supply were lightning charges in the form of arcane energy that seemed to mutate swamp ooze into full-grown green slimes. For the time being, they seemed suspended in animation and trapped in the lightning.

She warned Pasha to stay back. "This doesn't look good."

Sizzling filled the air again as the Gnome who stood on top of the machine launched fireballs at the core processor.

"Elder Glittergold?" Rumer called from a safe distance.

The Gnome looked up at her from beneath bushy, white eyebrows and returned his attention to the machine.

A slime broke free just then from its prison and made haste toward the preoccupied mage.

"Excuse me," she said, "but there seems to be a problem."

Glittergold just grumbled under his breath and ignored her.

Seeing it was necessary, Rumer lunged at the slime, thrusting both daggers into it again and again until it dissipated into a messy green puddle at her feet. She watched as more started to break free and head their way.

"Mage!"

Glittergold turned and saw the approaching slimes. His eyes opened to twice their size before he turned back.

Rumer poised herself between the onslaught and the Gnome, ready to attack. Calling over her shoulder, she asked, "What's going on?"

"There seems to be a slight malfunction with the multiacidic ossification control."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, obviously, that the humiditinker is destabilizing the alterfier oxidizer."

She rolled her eyes and launched a few throwing stars at the closest mutant slime, stunning it only mere seconds before it started oozing toward them again. "Well, stop it!"

"Just hold them off," the mage said, "while I give this transmogrification valve a whirl."

His little gloved hands worked quickly but to no avail.

"They're still coming," Rumer said as she battled against two of the closest slimes.

"Maybe it's the other direction." He spoke more to himself than to her and started turning the valve back the other way.

"Now they're coming faster."

"Oh, my!"

Upon hearing loud metallic clanking, Rumer looked back and saw the mage hitting the mechanism with the end of his wooden staff and the glowing orb at the top crackling with lightning.

"Can't you fix it?" she asked.

"I've been trying to for the past three days."

"Three days?" Rumer stared in disbelief at the mage.

Pasha roared from his safe spot just beyond the conductors. "Look out!"

Rumer whipped back to face another slime and attacked it with vengeance.

When it was destroyed, she turned to the mage. "I thought you were an engineer."

"Heavens, no. I'm a tailor."

Both she and Pasha groaned. She should have known judging from his long velvet robes embroidered with runes in gold-spun thread and bedazzled with sparkling gemstones.

Exasperated, Rumer released her fan of knives in a spray of crippling poison.

"Heads up!"

She plucked the little mage from the flying contraption and hurled him through the air toward Pasha who caught him by the cloak. He dangled from the great saber's teeth, shouting protestations in multisyllabic words and flailing his stubby arms and legs about like a bug that'd just landed on its back.

"Run, Pasha," she said then turned her attention back to the slimes.

Flaying and filleting, she popped the closest slimes and made a break for it. With fetid, green blobs oozing after her, she broke into a sprint and vanished into the shadows of the murky swamp.

When the slimes had lost sight and interest of her, she let forth a sharp whistle. Pasha appeared with the mage still in his mouth and dumped him on the ground at Rumer's feet.

The Gnome straightened his robes and flicked saliva from his long, wavy beard. "Now, what can I do for you?" he asked.

Rumer clucked her tongue at his lack of gratitude for saving his life. "A bit pretentious naming yourself after a deity, don't you think?"

"I'll say," Pasha said under his breath.

"No more pretentious than assuming that just because I am a Gnome, I should also be an engineer." A satisfied look of smugness settled across his face.

"You're right," she said, "I don't know how I could have made that mistake."

She mounted Pasha and began to ride away.

"Wait! Wait! You're not going to leave me here, are you?" They heard Glittergold call out. "The slimes will kill me!"

Rumer smiled to herself, halted Pasha, and turned to wait for him, enjoying the sight of his little legs trotting up to them. She reached down and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and set him on the saddle behind her.

Pasha reared.

"Whoa!" Glittergold clung to Rumer's waist.

"Enough playing, Pasha," she said, laughing and patting his head.

The great cat obeyed and placed all four paws on the ground.

They headed back to Theramore.

Babs Fizzletourque stood at the edge of the lighthouse island, waving excitedly as Rumer steered the boat to shore. At once, Glittergold climbed over her and Pasha and disembarked.

Babs smothered him with kisses and fussed about how long he'd been gone and what danger he must have been in.

"Yes, yes," he answered her. "I had it all under control."

Rumer and Pasha just eyed each other and hid smiles.

"You will stay for dinner. All of you," Babs said and began setting up a feast for a very small king.

Halfway through the meal, with Pasha napping by the bonfire, and the others circled around it, Rumer began her inquiry. "I was told you know my sister, Whisperra Nightblade?"

The mage stopped chewing, and his eyes looked thoughtful, reflecting the flames. He seemed to retreat into his thoughts, and they looked dark.

When he finally spoke, his voice was void of the arrogance from earlier in the day. "She was after Chok'sul's head, and I happened to be in his cave at the time. She saved my life."

"My dear Glitter, you mean to say you were trapped by that nasty ogre?" Babs gasped, and her hands flew up to her mouth to suppress the horror.

If Rumer had not seen it herself, she wouldn't have believed the tender moment that passed between the two tiny Gnomes as Glittergold took one of Babs' hands and held it while he spoke.

"The Mo'grosh ogres had terrorized the town of Thelsamar, the Stonewrought Dam, and the excavation site in Loch Modan under orders from Chok'sul. The Dwarven Magistrate wanted it stopped, and he put out a reward. I assume your sister was after that reward."

"And what were you after?"

Glittergold looked at Babs as if he wanted to spare her from hearing this part but didn't have a choice. "His ring. It possessed great intellectual power from which all of his shamans channeled their magic. Without it, I figured he and his minions would become so impotent, I could kill Chok'sul myself and endear myself to the Magistrate."

"So you didn't want the power of the ring for yourself?" Rumer asked.

"Well, that too."

"What does this have to do with meeting Whisperra in Ratchet?"

He returned to his thoughts, cleared his throat, and began the story.

 _The first few ogres at the mouth of the cave had been easy enough to kill. A few fireballs and they had become toast. Being so small, he had been able to hide behind stalagmites that erupted from the stone floor and had slipped past many of the lumbering oafs. But as Glittergold headed deeper into Chok'sul's lair, the ogre numbers also increased._

 _It hadn't been until he was in sight of the ogre leader himself that Glittergold had lost his concentration. The Minor Channeling Ring had sparkled on the ogre's finger, and he'd become mesmerized, envisioning the power he'd have once in possession of it. He had giggled out loud in anticipation and drawn attention to himself._

 _At once, the loin-clothed ogres converged on him. He tried to fire off a round of scorching heat waves, but it was no use; there were too many, and Glittergold didn't have the advantage of time or distance for his spells to gather power._

 _Chok'sul bellowed just then, his voice echoing against the walls of the cavern, and the ogre bodyguards stopped. Instead of trying to kill him, one of them grabbed the mage and threw him into a wooden cage in an alcove._

 _This was worse than Glittergold had expected. He he'd lost his line of sight on Chok'sul, and he was out of range for any of his spells to work anyway. He had only to wonder what the ogres wanted with him._

 _Gathering up his robes, the Gnome plopped down on the cold, damp, rocky floor to contemplate his misery. His only comfort was that Magistrate Bluntnose had posted a reward for the ogre's head, and someone stupid enough, probably a warrior, would eventually try his hand at killing Chok'sul._

 _It seemed like days or even weeks that he'd waited in the confines of his crude prison while foolhardy men one after the other fell victim to the ogre leader. Glittergold spent much of his time asleep until he had either heard the commotion of another failed attack or his snoring had irritated the ogres so much that they poked him awake with the ends of their wooden maces._

 _In one such state of alertness, he noticed a change. Instead of hearing the ogres' constant leaden footfalls as they patrolled the cave, he heard nothing. The air, usually rank and stifled, had a slight breeze to it. The fine hair of his snowy beard danced along the current._

 _Something happened. Something had become different. And then a patrolling bodyguard suddenly collapsed in front of the alcove, and dark brown liquid pooled around its head._

 _Glittergold didn't see its killer but smelled it instead. It had been the scent of stealth, or rather the lack of any scent. He'd grown accustomed to the lack of scent that precipitated a stealth attack. His own brother had studied the way of the Assassin and had used the mage to practice his skills. To most living creatures, the lack of scent had often been overlooked as a sign of danger._

 _But Glittergold was not most living creatures. He was brilliant._

"What does this have to do with my sister?" Rumer interrupted.

"I'm getting to that," the mage said and cleared his throat before resuming.

 _So he was only surprised when the stealthy assassin who had stepped out of the shadows by his cage was female._

" _A little help, please," he said with as much pleasantry as he could muster and jiggled the lock holding the door closed._

" _Hush," the Night Elf said and sapped a passing ogre into unconsciousness._

 _Next, she dragged the body of the dead ogre deeper into the alcove and waited for the stun effect of the other to wear off._

 _Luring her target back into the shadows, she stepped behind it in one swift movement and slit its throat clean down to the bone. The ogre slumped to the ground in a sickening thud. Glittergold, not used to the brutality of steel, swallowed down a lump of nausea and looked away._

 _Without a word, the female assassin picked the lock of the Gnome's cage and let him out._

" _Cover me" she said and stepped through the shadows behind Chok'sul before he could answer._

 _Glittergold felt the air ripple through his beard again and, it had been in that instant, that the assassin began her attack. It was as if she'd choreographed it to a haunting ballad, but he didn't have the time to watch her performance. Pelting Chok'sul's bodyguards with fiery bombs, Glittergold's spell had slowed their movements considerably as their skin became so scorched they could no longer fight and instead crumpled to the ground in a pile of ash._

 _With the other ogres dead, it was time to concentrate on Chok'sul. The female assassin twirled around the ogre leader, rupturing veins and slicing muscles as Glittergold began to summon immense fiery boulders from between his palms. He hurled them in succession, taking care not to wound his ally._

 _In the final act, the Night Elf thrust both daggers upward into Chok'sul's chest and pierced his heart. Before gravity took out the ogre, she sheared his head from his neck and caught it in one hand._

" _Do you wish to fight me for it?" she asked the mage._

 _Swallowing that lump again, Glittergold managed to say, "I just want the ring."_

 _She looked down at the gleaming beacon on Chok'sul's finger and cut it off then tossed the golden band to him. "That's it then."_

 _With his voice choking, he said, "You saved my life."_

" _No." She smiled at him then. "I just prolonged it."_

" _If you ever need the favor returned, just ask," Glittergold said and slipped the ring around his waist like a belt._

 _The assassin nodded and began walking toward the cave's exit._

" _The name's Glittergold. Elder Glittergold, the mage. In case you need me."_

" _Whisperra," was all she'd said. Then she bowed with a flourish and vanished._

Babs Fizzletourque was visibly shaken with fat tears streaming down her cheeks.

Rumer was beside herself as well with a deep aching to find her sister now more than ever. She was so close, and at last she had found someone who might be able to help her.

"And you repaid that favor in Ratchet," she said. "What did she want?"

Glittergold sighed. "Not anything nearly as spectacular as that ring, which by the way, I traded in for a better one. She wanted information. To know who had spoken against your father to the King of Stormwind."

Inhaling sharply, Rumer steeled herself. "Who was it?"

"Well, I don't know. And that's what I told her. But there's a book in the Library of the Hall of the Explorers in Ironforge that will tell you. That's where she was headed."

"Take me."


	5. Chapter 5: The Elf and the Swan

"The Elf and the Swan"

They boarded the _Lady Mehley_ at the Theramore docks and waved bon voyage to Babs who had stayed behind on the small rocky island. She blinked the lighthouse beacon in a bittersweet farewell to her beloved mage.

It wasn't long before the ship set sail across the Great Sea for the Eastern Kindgoms that Rumer's companions left her. Glittergold withdrew to the topmost deck and buried his nose in spell books, and Pasha wedged himself between the outer wall of the main cabin and the wooden stairs in preparation for seasickness. He preferred neither birds nor boats as modes of long distance transport.

Finding herself with considerable time on her hands, Rumer entered the cabin and dropped the leather pouch with all her remaining gold onto one of the tables.

"Your strongest drink," she said, motioning to the Human woman who guarded the kegs. "And keep it coming."

The Galley Chief's strongest drink was thick and tepid and ran a dark brown color from the tap. It was of no consequence to Rumer. For once, she was able to drink as much as she wanted without the lecture. And this time she wouldn't stop until she couldn't tell the difference between the lurching of the boat and the lurching in her head.

Besides, there were too many things she needed to repress.

After the fifth mug of mud and froth, Rumer raised her head and looked about the cabin—a makeshift bar with a keg and a few bottles of watered down wine sat against one wall, netted hammocks hung from the ceiling, and a handful of tables like her own were bolted to the floor.

Other than Captain Torgoley, a few sailors, and a fully-armored Marine passing through, the only other passenger in the room was a male Night Elf. He sat in the corner peering over the lit candle in the center of his table.

Immediately she regretted catching his eye as he approached her and took a seat.

"Buy you a drink?" he asked with a slow smile out of one side of his mouth

Rumer gathered the few loose coppers she had left and swept them back into the leather pouch.

She hadn't associated with her own race (or any other for that matter) since the Kaldorei had shunned her family name after her father's betrayal. Wise and compassionate as the Night Elves were, they could also be cold and judgmental of anyone who dared upset their solace.

Though this male Night Elf—long, cobalt hair, muscular chest, broad shoulders, and blazing golden eyes—was far from his Teldrassil home, he still carried an air of ancient Elven superiority about him.

She steeled herself against it.

"Just give me all your gold, and I'll buy my own."

He chuckled deep and throaty. Rumer felt a slow burn work its way through her insides but couldn't trace it back to the alcohol. She would have left the table and his unsettling presence if he hadn't motioned for the Galley Chief.

"A drink for me and the lady," he said. "And this time I want the stuff they keep down below."

Rumer, a self-proclaimed connoisseur of Kalimdor spirits, was intrigued. "What do they keep down below?"

"The Captain's stash." The Night Elf winked.

"And you know this how?"

"I'm a hunter." He chuckled again. "You'd be surprised at how many things I've learned to track down."

By nature, hunters were a rogue's worst enemy, but that didn't mean Rumer was afraid of them. She took note of his high-powered crossbow and spear-tipped polearm and scoffed. His long-ranged weapon specialty didn't impress her.

He was a pretty boy who didn't like to get his hands dirty and let his pet, the bedraggled wolf asleep in the corner, take the brunt of the attacks. He knew nothing about melee combat, of taking another living creature's life with his own hands. Instead, he attacked his prey from hiding where the sight of death was distant and veiled.

Looking down at her own hands, she saw only hardened calluses and the dried blood of her victims. Murder was not something a person could eventually get used to; it simply required a cold heart and a strong stomach. Both of which Rumer possessed.

The Galley Chief set down two drinks in clean glasses, and the hunter thanked her with a gaze that would have melted any female not prepared for it.

Disgusted with the way he flirted with the Human, Rumer doused her feelings in the thin, sweet liquid that sent a warm, welcoming sensation all the way through her veins. She had never tasted anything so smooth or delicious. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the ambrosia before swallowing the rest.

When the first glass had been drained, she motioned for another, then another, and after she gulped them all down, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Easy, rogue," the Night Elf said. "Don't let the taste fool you. Even something seemingly innocent can kill you if you're not careful."

Maybe that's what she wanted. To end the loneliness that her life's profession demanded. Maybe she wanted to stop wandering. Stop searching for a sister who hadn't cared enough to return the favor.

Rumer was tired in more ways than one, and she didn't have the resolve to keep up her defenses.

"Swan," he said and held out his hand in greeting.

As the name implied— _beautiful, graceful, deadly…_

His glowing, golden irises burned into her flesh. She felt her cheeks flush with something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She hoped it was antipathy, but that would have been too easy.

"I'm going to vomit."

She staggered out on deck, leaving his hand unaccepted and tipping over the chair behind her. The Great Sea's wind hit her hard, and she lurched for the railing. Heaving the contents of her insides overboard, she cursed the Night Elf and the sweet poisonous elixir he'd offered.

Rumer, momentarily finished expelling the last two hours of her life, crawled over to Pasha, who didn't look too healthy either and only raised an eyebrow in greeting as she rested her head against his belly. She achieved her goal, she thought, but was it worth it?

For most of the night, she lay there spinning but not allowing herself the pleasure of feeling out of control without relinquishing completely.

"We've reached port," the deep, throaty voice said from somewhere close to her ear.

The blackness behind Rumer's eyes lightened to a fuzzy grey as she squinted against the daylight.

The hunter's face came into focus. She groaned and buried her head again. He was the last person she wanted to see.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Menethil Harbor. The ship will be leaving soon. You best be on your way."

He helped her up without her consent, who realized it was necessary when her legs wobbled beneath her. It took a moment, but she shook her head and prepared herself for the crushing weight of waking reality.

Pasha had already slinked off the plank and was stretching his muscles on solid ground. Trotting down the deck stairs in his usual hurried and sober fashion, Glittergold took Rumer's arm in his and whisked her toward the dock.

"Come, come. We must be in Ironforge by midnight."

"Why?" she asked.

A look of long-suffering crossed his face. "What do you think, Gnomes don't need sleep?"

She shrugged, having survived at least a decade without a decent night's rest.

"Now who is that giant wall of blue hair and flesh staring at us? One of your drunken cohorts, I presume?" the mage asked.

Rumer glanced over. Swan was watching her with a bemused smile. Was he mocking her? Because she hadn't held down her liquor last night? There was a first time for everything.

"No one," she said and frowned. At least that's what she hoped. Her suspicions were rearing their ugly heads.

Uncovering secrets and lies was her specialty, and she'd often taken odd jobs to gather information on unsavory characters. Stalking in the darkness, slipping through the shadows, she saw and heard everything without any of her targets knowing.

But what if she'd become the target? What if Swan had been hired to track her down? After all these years, she was closer than ever to finding her sister, and her quest was beginning to involve more people than she'd wanted.

Brightsun's words came back to her just then, _"If you wish to take on the mighty Stormwind Empire, you would be wise to find your sister first."_

What had he meant? What had she stumbled into?

It wasn't until Rumer, Glittergold, and Pasha had disembarked the _Lady Mehley_ that the hunter spoke again. "Are you at least going to tell me your name?"

Aware of the Gnome's eyes scrutinizing her, Rumer answered, "It's nothing. Forget you ever met me," and kept walking.

She was ornery for the rest of the day. The sun was too hot, the air too wet, and she drank all of their spring water before leaving town. As it was, the Harbor was flooded in several inches of seawater from the recent cataclysmic events, and Elder Glittergold demanded to be carried.

"Do you want me to drown?" he asked.

"It's only knee deep," Pasha said between bared teeth, putting aside his own aversion to water to make a point.

"Precisely, or have you forgotten I'm only knee-tall?"

Before Pasha could rebuke, Rumer picked up the mage and dropped him onto the saber's back. Anticipating her mount's protest, she prodded him to keep moving. With each step, Pasha flicked water from his paws and kept a low growl in his throat. Likewise, Rumer stewed in silent anger; her brand new leather boots were already ruined with silt and slime.

Leaving Menethil, the three trudged along the stone path, keeping their distance from Puddlejumping Murlocs and Mottled Raptors that inhabited the Wetlands.

"Are we there yet?" Glittergold asked for the third time that morning.

"No!" yelled Pasha and Rumer in unison.

"It'll be a fortnight before we get there," the Gnome answered, "if we keep up this pace."

"Look who's talking. You're getting a free ride." Suddenly Pasha shook his coat violently and launched the tiny mage onto the path several feet away.

Elder Glittergold rolled about on the ground trying to stand but only managed to entangle himself in his thick, velvety robes to the point of suffocation.

Crouching with his hindquarters in the air, Pasha's pupils grew large and black and, after an endearing wiggle of his backside, he sprang at the purple ball and batted him around with a padded paw.

Muffled protestations spilled forth from the Gnome's mouth, surely insults and curses spoken in his native language.

"Bloody hell!" Rumer said and stomped over to them. She swatted Pasha to step away and grabbed the mage, standing him on his own two feet. Pulling the purple conical hat off his head, she shoved it at him then spun him widdershins until his robes released their grip from his throat.

Glittergold sputtered and teetered from dizziness and was not at all happy with Rumer's mistreatment. In a fit of anger, he slammed the cloth helm back onto his head with a loud "harrumph!"

She couldn't help but laugh when it landed well over his eyes. She lifted it up and said, "You should see a tailor about that."

Continuing their travels in silence, they finally left the swampy Wetlands for the Dun Algaz border. It was cooler here but still damp as they proceeded through the Dwarven-made mountain tunnels.

The passes were fine specimens of the earthen descendants' architectural craftsmanship with intricate wall and ceiling stonework, graded floors to accommodate the incline, and wrought iron sconces, both decorative and functional, that held flaming torches.

How different the Dwarves were from the Night Elves, Rumer thought, a hearty mountain folk who chose to invest their passion and diligence in creating tangible objects rather than in the study of magic, nature, and healing. Both of those callings seemed to have eluded her, and she wondered had her father not betrayed SI:7, the Alliance, and her own people if her life would have turned out differently.

But there were more important things to think about like the information this mysterious documents in Ironforge. Elder Glittergold had known what was in them, the name of her father's accuser, and Whisperra had wanted to know too. There was definitely something more going on than just one Special Operatives agent selling military secrets.

"How do you know the name of my father's informant is in those documents and not know who it is?" she asked suddenly.

The little Gnome was hardly perturbed by the insinuation that he was either keeping secrets or lying, both of which had just crossed the young rogue's mind.

Until now, she'd been responding recklessly to any information anyone gave her about her sister, but what if Whisperra had died at the hands of her abductors all those years ago? Could some unknown entity be trying to ferret Rumer out of hiding? And why?

"Having spent as much time in the Library as myself, one hears rumors and one knows which books are held under lock and key."

"Books?"

"You don't think they would keep information like that just lying around in a shuffle of papers, do you?" Glittergold retorted. "No. Anything worth knowing can always be found in a book. And where better to hide a book than in plain sight amongst a thousand other books."

"But you don't know for sure. You led me all this way on a rumor?" She stopped, as did Pasha who would have much rather spent the day napping than crossing continents by ship and trudging through mountains.

"A well-informed assumption, I like to think. But you may end this journey now if you wish."

She thought about it, certainly she did, then groaned. "Keep walking."

It was then that Rumer decided to proceed with much more caution than she'd been showing. Every encounter, every motive, every piece of information she received would now have to be scrutinized against her suspicions. Her head already began to hurt, and she wished she hadn't spent all her money on rancid stout.

Upon reaching Algaz Station, they took the high road to North Gate Pass. The air became thinner as they ascended higher into the mountains, and the chill crept over them as they entered the last of the Dwarven tunnels. Elder Glittergold stuffed his hands deep into his robe sleeves and scrunched himself several inches shorter while Rumer wrapped herself in a fur cloak.

At the top of a long, steep incline, the companions emerged into daylight once again to find the land encrusted with snow and heartier native creatures such as Alpine hare, craggy boars, and snow leopards. Even the Dwarven mountaineers who patrolled the roads were bundled in heavy green woolen clothes.

"Meet me outside the Library at midnight," the mage said, channeling energy between his hands until it formed a portal before them.

Rumer looked into it and saw the great Dwarven city of Ironforge. With more anger than disbelief in her voice, she asked, "You're leaving? Now?"

"And not taking us?" Pasha added with a hiss.

Stepping into the portal, the Gnome turned around and stuck his head back out. "Sorry. There's only room for one in here."

And with that, Elder Glittergold was gone.


	6. Chapter 6: Vector Coil Breaches

"Vector Coil Breaches and How to Avoid Them"

Pasha swiped at the portal, but it had closed and left them behind.

"Come on," Rumer said, mounting the great saber. "We need to reach the valley before nightfall and make camp."

Pasha stood his ground. "You're not still thinking of going to Ironforge? After what that velvet-hooded dwarf just did?"

"He's a Gnome not a Dwarf. And yes. Let's go."

They traversed slowly against the biting wind, snow squalls whipping around their heads and stinging their faces. Pasha, still upset, snorted every so often to show his contempt, and condensation from his breath froze on his whiskers. Even Rumer had wrapped a Defias handkerchief, a souvenir she'd kept from one of the Brotherhood's failed ambushes, around her mouth and nose.

They barely reached the base of the mountain before dark. Rumer started a fire and pitched a shelter of animal pelts while Pasha, freed from his saddle and packs, pranced after Alpine hares in the snow.

"Don't play with our food. Just kill it," she called out to him.

He crouched with his hindquarters in the air and, his butt giving that telltale wiggle, pounced on an unsuspecting rabbit and broke its neck in his jaw. He carried it back to Rumer and dropped it at her feet. She praised him with a kiss and a scratch behind his ears."I hate this part."

With a few deft slices of her blade, she had the rabbit skinned, filleted, and soon roasting over the open flame with the two that came before.

When it was time for dinner, though, she preferred a bottle of stolen rum over the rabbit and tossed the meat to Pasha. He disapproved. But only after he had devoured it.

"Do you trust him?" he asked.

"I don't trust anyone, but I can't imagine he'd waste his time bringing us this far if there wasn't something in the Library."

Pasha snarled but kept quiet.

She'd been tossing about the scenarios inside her head all day. If the mage lived up to his promise and the book did contain the name of her father's betrayer, what was she supposed to do? Whisperra had always been their father's favorite and no doubt she would have gone after the culprit. But what if that led to a dead end? Or worse—her sister's death?

What if all these years searching had been a waste? What of Rumer's life then?

Of course there was always the chance that Glittergold was lying, that there was no book, and that the whole thing was a setup to ambush a wanted fugitive and collect bounty money.

Either way, she would deal with the consequences as they came.

Nearing midnight, Rumer polished off the rum and strapped on her daggers.

Pasha, who had dozed off by the fire, suddenly woke. "You're not going without me."

"It's best if you stay here. No sense in us both getting caught."

"So you do think it's a trick."

"No. I'm just being cautious."

He stood up and stretched. "I'm coming with you."

It would be nice to have some company, she thought. And he would be useful in case she had to make a hasty departure.

"Fine. You can come with me as far as the city, but you're not going inside."

Pasha bowed his head.

They ascended in silence the stone path to the gates of the great Dwarven city. Ironforge Guards stood sentry at the entrance. Rumer didn't notice any Stormwind police lurking about but that didn't mean there weren't any inside the city proper. It was only too easy for off-duty officials to take the underground tram into Ironforge for a weekend of carousing with the city's legendary tavern girls.

Once inside the main gates, the air became hot and smoky from the earth's core burning below. Heat rose up from the air shafts that had been cut all along the outer perimeter, and iron grates stopped travelers from falling into them.

Rumer pulled the hood of her cloak down in an effort to hide her Elven features. She couldn't be sure this was a trap, but she wasn't going to take a chance that it wasn't either.

According to her map, the Hall of the Explorers was directly opposite the Gates of Ironforge. She had two choices: either circle around through the Commons, Military Ward, and Tinker Town, or cut a direct route through the Great Forge itself. She'd be less likely to encounter anyone along the outer rim, but then again there were too many darkened buildings where old enemies could lie in wait.

As a woman of both subtlety and self-preservation, she took the direct path. Though Ironforge Guards wielding sharpened axes still patrolled the area, they were fewer and farther between in the heart of the city, and she could maneuver around them without causing suspicion. Hiding in plain sight came just as easily to her as hiding in the shadows.

At one juncture, she stopped to watch a blacksmith work on a new style of dagger and engaged in curious banter with him while a guard passed by. The blade was forged to look like two entwined snakes, sharpened on either side until their heads merged into one vicious point. She quite fancied it but would never be able to afford it and, although the thought of stealing it did cross her mind, she knew it would be unwise to pull off that kind of heist in the middle of an Alliance capital.

Rumer waited for another guard to pass before she took her leave and headed towards the Hall of the Explorers. From the center of the Great Forge, the arched entryways stood straight ahead. She made her way into the vestibule past members of the Explorers' League and Reclaimers, Inc. and pretended to admire the display of a Pteradon skeleton and a strange scientific apparatus crafted by the Night Elves over 12,000 years ago.

"What are you doing out here? I've been waiting for you in the Library," Elder Glittergold said in his usual disapproving tone as he trotted up to her.

"It's locked," Rumer answered.

"You're a rogue! Pick it!"

Rumer scowled but at least the mage had kept his word. "Why didn't you just leave the door open?"

"And announce to everyone that I was breaking into the Library?"

"If it was locked, how did you get in?"

"Well, obviously I have a key."

"Then you weren't breaking in." Grabbing the mage by the scruff of his purple velvet robes, she stomped over to the Library entrance and tossed him inside. "Where are these documents?"

Straightening his attire, he adopted a look of annoyance. "Top shelf. Fourth row from the left. Third book in."

Rumer's head tilted far back as she surveyed the height of the bookcases. Two stories tall at least. "Seriously?"

Glittergold pulled a coil of rope from inside his robes and threw it at her. "Now get to work."

She hadn't come this far for nothing, and as much as she would have liked to strangle the little Gnome's neck, she decided to refrain from it until after acquiring the book.

Looping off one end, she lassoed it around an iron sconce and scaled the wall closest to the fourth bookcase. When she reached the top, she counted over three books.

" _A Zombie's Guide to Proper Nutrition_? I'm going to kill you."

Before she could slide back down the rope, Glittergold stopped her. "Wait! That's not it."

"What tipped you off?"

He began counting on his fingers and mumbling under his breath.

"Maybe it's the third row from the left and the fourth book in."

Rumer shot daggers at him with her eyes. Letting go of the rope, she grabbed onto the shelf to her left and shimmied across.

"I'll get it," he said and snapped his fingers. At once a magic carpet appeared, and the mage climbed atop as it lifted him toward the designated location.

"Ah, here it is. _Trans-dimensional Ship Repair for Simpletons_." His pudgy little fingers reached out and pulled a book off the shelf.

With mouth agape, Rumer plucked the book from his gasp and rappelled to the floor.

"You won't be able to open it. It's locked." Glittergold directed his flying carpet to return to the ground.

"I'll pick it."

"Not this kind. It's magical."

With a begrudging gesture, Rumer handed back the book. The Gnome mumbled some magical words, and energy bolts crackled from his fingertips. In a burst of light, the book flew open. Satisfied, he held it to her in offering.

Rumer hesitated. Did she really want to know? After all this time believing Ebon had committed treason, blaming him for Whisperra's abduction, hating him for forcing her into this corrupt, solitary lifestyle, she wasn't sure she wanted to know the truth. "This book really holds the person's name responsible for my father's execution?"

"Yes! It is brilliant, is it not? No one would ever suspect looking in there. It's not a bestseller like _Blinking Rules and Regulations_."

If this book was the key to finding her sister, she would just have to sort out her feelings about her father later. Flinging open the book, she began rifling through pages before finally slamming it shut. When she spoke, her words came out behind clenched teeth. "This is a book on how to fix a Draenei spaceship." She threw it down and advanced on the mage.

"Wait." He began counting on his fingers and mumbling again.

"Turn to page two-hundred fifty-three."

Rumer picked up the book and searched for the page. "Vector Coil Breaches and How to Avoid Them." She slammed it shut again and threatened the mage with her dagger.

"That cannot be." Glittergold picked up the book and rose out of reach on his flying carpet. "This isn't possible," he said after turning several pages. "It was all right here. All the Alliance secrets. Your sister even saw it."

"She stole it then."

"No, no. She couldn't have."

"She's a rogue. It's what we do."

"What part of enchanted do you not understand? If it had left the library, it would have burst into flames."

Exasperated, Rumer doubted there ever was a book. Maybe this was all just a figment of some crazy mage's imagination. She had heard that the physics of magic often drove its practitioners mad.

"This is bad. This is very bad." At once, Glittergold began flying around the room, agitated. "This could only mean one thing. Librarian Paledust must have found out someone discovered the book." He buzzed past Rumer on the magic carpet without warning and forced the young rogue to jump out of the way.

"She's just a librarian. How bad can it be?"

Glittergold buzzed back again. "She will know it's me for sure. I am the only one, of course, who actually reads any of the books in the Library. I stumbled upon it one day while looking for a manual on non-carbon based hydraulic time travel. I never found one of course, so I decided to start writing my own."

With hands on her hips, Rumer tapped her foot in impatience.

"Ahem. Where was I? The Alliance secrets book had the first enchanted lock I opened without blowing myself up. I was quite proud of myself and may have mentioned it to a few of my school chums. To rub it in mostly. So certainly she'll know it was me who showed your sister. Why, she could ban me from Ironforge. She could ban me from the Library!"

As if mimicking the mage's emotions, the magic carpet began flying erratically in circles around Rumer. Fed up with getting rug burn, she grabbed the enchanted mat in both hands and yanked hard. Glittergold tumbled to the ground.

"I'm banned from Stormwind," she said. "You'll get used to it." Pausing for a moment, she remembered what the mage had told her on their journey through the Wetlands. _Having spent as much time in the Library as myself, one hears rumors and one knows which books are held under lock and key._

She turned to Glittergold. "So you're telling me that after you opened the lock, you didn't bother to read what was inside? A curious mind like yours?"

He faltered. "I read enough to know it made no mention of vector coils and put it back before anyone found out."

Rumer lunged down on one knee and gripped him by the robe's lapels. "You're lying. You read that book from cover to cover and you know exactly who set my father up, and then instead of just telling my sister, you led her here so you wouldn't have to take the blame if someone found out."

Grabbing onto her arm as a flea grabs onto a dog's back, he said, "You don't understand. I'm a mage. I can't live without my books. I have to get out of here right away. If Paledust catches me in here with another —" he threw her a condescending glance until she warned him with an evil eye not to say anything he might regret — "another Night Elf, she'll have the Archmagus take away my spells. I'm nothing without my spells."

For once Rumer agreed.

Just then, a key turning in the lock of the Library doors sounded.

Both their heads whipped around to watch the doorknob turn.

"Who framed my father? Who ordered his execution?" She held on tighter to the Gnome's robes.

Glittergold's eyes opened to two full moons, his mouth gaping to a third, and then he blinked out of the library and left her clutching the air.

One of the Library's doors creaked open, and Rumer leaped to a bookcase near the entrance. She scrambled silently up and across the shelves until she could perch on top of the door frame.

Librarian Paledust, a stout old Dwarven maid with a book in one hand and a pickaxe in the other, entered the room. Peering through a pair of spectacles she pulled from her bathrobe, she searched the room for sign of intruders then spied the rope. As she toddled over to inspect it more closely, Rumer dropped to the ground and darted through the museum.

Glittergold jumped out from behind a display case. "You have to get me out of here."

"Why?" She continued to make her way across the room, keeping her eyes out for Librarian Paledust to make a reappearance.

"Do you know what they do to Gnomes who disobey the rules? They hang you up by your toes until everything falls out of your pockets and suffocate you in your own clothing."

"Sounds tragic." Rumer exited and hurried toward the corridor that would lead her to the Great Forge again.

"You have to take me with you."

"I don't have to do anything," she said still moving swiftly but not suspiciously. "Why don't you just open up a portal and…port somewhere?"

"Are you crazy? They track all our portal travel. No. This has to be done the old fashioned way. I have to go off the grid, and who better to help me do that than someone who has never been on it." Glittergold's legs moved so fast to keep up with her, it was a wonder he didn't start a fire from the friction.

Stopping suddenly in the privacy of the corridor, she turned around just in time for the Gnome to crash into her kneecaps. He squealed in pain and held his nose.

"I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding," he said over and over and hopped around with blood staining the white gloves on his hands.

"You'd never survive a minute in my world making all that racket." She scooped him up and, tearing a burlap bag off a display stand at Burbik's Supplies, stuffed him into it and whisked him out the Ironforge entrance.

"What's he doing here?" Pasha asked rather unpleasantly after Rumer dumped the mage onto the hard, cold ground.

She grabbed a handful of snow and pressed it against Glittergold's nose. "He's going to tell us exactly what was in that book or we let the librarian deal with him."

"You wouldn't!" the Gnome answered, his words coming out in a honk as he held his bleeding appendage.

Pasha growled. "I told you it was a trick."

"It wasn't a trick," Rumer said still with some degree of doubt. Turning to the mage, she gave her most threatening stare. "Who framed my father?"

For a moment the mage stood unmoving, his tiny three-fingered hand pressing snow against his nose, then he dropped it. "I will tell you who it wasn't."

Glittergold stared back, sincerity scorching in his amber eyes. "It was not Mathias Shaw."


	7. Chap 7: Nothing Good Can Come

"Nothing Good Can Come From Searing Gorge"

"There he is! Guards, stop that mage!"

Librarian Mae Paledust bustled out into the cold, wintry night with two Ironforge Guards clanking behind her in full armor.

Glittergold squawked in dismay while Rumer and Pasha looked on in surprise.

"We have to go." The Night Elf jumped onto the saber's back and steered him around.

"Don't leave me," Glittergold called.

Rumer hesitated, but Pasha, despite his disdain for the Gnome, was more sympathetic. "Take him."

Groaning, Rumer reached down and plucked the little mage off the ground just as the Guards were about to descend on him. Springing forward, Pasha tore off down the mountainside.

They rode through the night and didn't stop until they were well south of the great Dwarven city and far from its imperial reach.

At daybreak, Rumer halted Pasha and turned to Glittergold. "This is where you get off."

"You can't leave me here."

"You're out of danger."

"But you need me."

The rogue and her saber shared a glance. "For what?"

Sputtering, the Gnome looked around him as if the answer might materialize before him. Then his eyes lit up. "I can make fire." He rubbed his hands together until a fireball burst into flames between them.

"So can I." Rumer struck a match with her thumb nail. "Can you cook?"

"Not advisable. But I can sew." He motioned to the golden embroidered handiwork on his robes.

Shrugging, she said, "I wear leather."

Glittergold stroked his beard in contemplation.

"Oh." She snapped her fingers with an idea. "Do you know how to make alcohol?"

"That's a Dwarven specialty. But I know a Goblin who can make rocket fuel."

"I don't have a rocket."

The two shuffled their feet awhile in awkward silence then Rumer said, "Well, good luck." Pumping the mage's tiny hand up and down, she clapped him on the back and mounted Pasha again.

Just as she was about to signal the giant cat to take off, Glittergold stopped her. "Wait! I'm the last known link to your sister. What if I neglected to tell you something?"

"Did you?"

"Well, no, but…I told you where to find her. You owe me."

"I don't owe you anything. You almost got me arrested."

"She's just a librarian. What could she possibly do to us?"

"Exactly. Which is why you're perfectly safe."

For a moment, the mage looked lost and not in the sense that he didn't know where he was. Rumer's heart creaked, but she vowed after helping the Marines in Dustwallow Marsh not to stick her neck out for anyone again. It took up precious time she didn't have.

"Babs is waiting for you," she said to him not unkindly. "She loves you and that's not something you throw away. Go to her."

Just as quickly as the Gnome's look of desperation had appeared, it was replaced with his familiar countenance of self-importance. "Well, as riveting as being in the company of you and that uncivilized cat has been, there are a great many things I must attend to. None of which involve associating with a known fugitive who will undoubtedly get me killed. So without further prolongation, I must bid you farewell."

"I understand," the rogue said bowed her head.

Giving him one last look over her shoulder, the mage trotting away indignantly in the opposite direction, Rumer clicked her heels into Pasha's sides and urged him onward.

"I think I'm quite civilized actually," the cat said in a puff of breath.

Rumer nodded and stroked his fur. "More than me, Pasha. More than me."

They continued riding through the Stonewrought Pass until midday bore down upon them. As they exited the Dwarven-carved tunnel, they were greeted with the bones of critters not hearty enough to withstand the heat of Searing Gorge or the venomous Glassweb spiders that lurked along the dusty road.

"I don't like it here," Pasha said, sniffing the air in each direction.

"I don't either, but it's the only way to get to Stormwind."

The great saber stopped and turned his head to look back at his rider. "Stormwind?"

Nodding, Rumer answered, "The book was gone. Stolen, I'm sure. And now Brightsun has it and turning it over to the highest bidder. You heard what the mage said. If Mathias Shaw didn't order my father's execution, then he knows my father was innocent. And I'm sure Whisperra figured that out too. She would have confronted him."

"But you're banned from Stormwind. You won't be able to set foot inside the gates."

"I won't be entering from the gates. Now let's keep going before something kills us."

The canyon walls rose up around them toward the blood red sky, and remnants of ancient trees smoldered in blackened stumps. Even the chickens that wandered aimlessly were the color of ash.

They passed a small cemetery of freshly dug graves with offerings of pick axes and sledgehammers, a treasure chest (which Rumer refrained from looting at Pasha's disapproving scowl), and a wooden stake at the headstones.

"These are Dwarven names," she said aloud, inspecting each.

"Casualties from digging the tunnel?"

"Let's hope."

But she didn't believe it. No, these deaths were the result of something far more sinister because nothing good could come from Searing Gorge.

Walking against the smoke-filled air, Rumer covered her face with the trophy bandana while Pasha kept his head down and sneezed every few steps from the acrid haze that enveloped them. It was well into afternoon, and temperatures soared. Heat wavered over the stone path that created an infinite rippling pool around them.

"There's a camp on the right," she said. "Let's take a look."

Leading Pasha up a small ridge, she surveyed the area for inhabitants. Though it seemed as if it had been recently occupied with two tents set up for sleeping, a campfire still blazing, flies buzzing around fresh meat cooking in the hot sun, and crates of mining supplies, it also had the feeling of being abandoned in a hurry.

"Who do you think used to live here?" Pasha asked, his nose poking around the rotting carcass on the makeshift butcher block.

Rumer glanced toward the cemetery they had just passed.

"Whoever they were, I don't think they're coming back. We'll rest here until evening and travel when it's cooler."

After unsaddling Pasha, Rumer used a discarded crowbar to open each of the wooden barrels lined up one by one. To her dismay, they only contained water, but her mistsaber lapped up the contents sloppily then belched before settling down in the shade of one of the tents.

She laughed and said, "Maybe the mage was right."

Snorting in disdain, Pasha turned his back on her.

As weary as she was, Rumer had a hard time falling asleep. Guilt over leaving Glittergold stranded in a foreign land should have kept her awake, but she was more concerned with how she would get to Master Shaw without being caught. His headquarters were high in the barracks tower in Old Town and surrounded by training grounds and warriors who patrolled the area from Command Center and Champion's Hall.

Not only was Shaw the head of SI:7 but he was also the Thumb of the Stormwind Assassins. A secret guild of the deadliest and most trustworthy of rogues, the Stormwind Assassins also maintained covert operations that even the King knew nothing about. The Thumb was the highest level attainable and Ebon had been his second in command.

It was her dream, ever since Rumer was a young girl, of becoming a First Finger like her father, assigned only the most dangerous targets for elimination. She would close her eyes before falling asleep and watch herself traveling to foreign lands, sneaking through enemy cities in the dead of night, and strike the fatal blow to a Horde leader like Sylvanas Windrunner that would ultimately save the Alliance from complete destruction and win her father's love.

And even though she had been traveling through foreign lands and sneaking through enemy territories, she would never be recognized for doing something heroic or good. That part of the dream had died when Ebon did.

In the stifling air of Searing Gorge, Rumer was too exhausted to keep the memories of her childhood locked away.

" _Your dedication is admirable, young Nightblade, but don't be so focused that you lose sight of what's around you."_

 _Master Shaw had strolled into the training ground under cover of a half-moon glinting in the darkness. Rumer had been too busy trying to execute a series of sweeps, kicks, and rolls without stabbing herself to notice his approach._

 _Standing at attention, she performed the SI:7 salute. "Forgive me, Master. I was practicing for my test."_

" _Martial tests are not for six weeks yet."_

" _I want to be perfect," she answered._

 _Mathias Shaw just laughed. "From what I've seen, you already surpass your peers."_

" _But not my sister."_

 _Nodding in acknowledgment, Master Shaw unsheathed his own daggers. "She is flawless in her technique. But you make up for it with your passion."_

" _Passion?"_

" _Whisperra fights with her head, by the book. She does what she must to achieve the mission. But you, I see fire in your heart. You fight for something more. Tell me, why do you want to beat your sister so badly?"_

 _Rumer had always known deep down that Whisperra was her father's favorite, though he had never shown it outwardly. Rumer felt responsible for her mother's death because, shortly after giving birth, Laur'ellyn Nightblade had developed an infection and a fever that none of the healers could treat. It had come on so suddenly that she died with Rumer at her breast._

 _Answering Mathias, she said, "I just want my father to notice me."_

" _Then we shall make sure he does. En garde."_

 _Shaw assumed an offensive stance with one dagger thrust forward and the other held high over his head, and she followed suit. They maneuvered around the training grounds in a combination of advances and retreats, thrusts and parries, feints and reprises. With only the half-moon's light glinting against their blades, Rumer kept her eyes trained on Master Shaw's attacking hand and practiced her evasive maneuvers._

 _In a lunge she wasn't expecting and a left hand she hadn't seen coming, Shaw disarmed Rumer's forward dagger. "You see there," he said still circling his student, "you were too focused on what was in front of you to see that an attack can come from anywhere."_

 _He thrust at her again and Rumer parried._

" _If you want to beat your sister, or anyone else, you must use your strength. And it isn't fighting by the book."_

 _Shaw executed a grand sweeping attack that Rumer rolled out of. Springing up behind him, she transferred her dagger to her dominant hand, which left her other hand free to land punches. There were no boundaries now. This wasn't one of the martial tests where everything had to be precise. She was fighting for her life (and her reputation) with the most dangerous and revered assassin in all of Azeroth. If she could impress him, she would surely be able to win her father's love._

 _Like a windmill, Shaw came at her with both daggers whirling, and no chance of sidestepping. Timed to the second, Rumer dropped to the ground and swept Shaw's legs out from under him._

 _He laughed heartily, as all Humans did, and took her down, tossing her remaining weapon several feet away. They grappled for the superior position, and although Mathias Shaw was much bigger and stronger and had easily pinned her down, it wasn't long before Rumer slipped out of his grasp._

 _Somewhat surprised, he hesitated a moment too long, and she grabbed for his inferior hand, dismantling his blade, and wrapping his arm in a painful lock. Kicking his knee out, she flipped him over and landed the point of the other dagger she had stolen from him against his throat._

 _For a moment they both lay there panting in short gasps and staring back at each other. Rumer's guard was still up and her muscles still clenched awaiting the slightest movement of retaliation on her mentor's part._

" _See?" he finally said. "Passion."_

" _I didn't want to die." She smiled and offered a hand to help him up._

" _You would not have fought so intuitively if that were the only reason. Many a young rogue, your sister included, try to mask their emotions, to detach themselves from the act of killing. But the best assassins will harness their emotions and call upon them to fight for a higher cause. Your father does this. That is why I want him and no other rogue to fight by my side."_

 _It was imperative, now more than ever, for Rumer to win her father's favor, the man more venerated than any other assassin in all of SI:7._

" _Now, young Nightblade, it's time to rest. It's well past your curfew."_

 _She bowed her head and retrieved her daggers._

" _How did you manage to slip past the wardens anyway?" he asked. "They are some of my best men."_

 _She shrugged as if he should have known. "I rappelled from the window."_

" _Remind me to install bars in your room." He chuckled._

 _Just as Rumer was about to head into the dormitory, she stopped and turned back to Shaw who was still watching her. "Will you put in a good word for me with my father?"_

 _A benevolent smile crossed his face and his eyes crinkled. "Always."_

 _She nodded her thanks, began walking again then thought better of it. "And next time, don't let me win."_

 _Mathias Shaw laughed._

Baring her blade, Rumer woke to Pasha grunting and nudging her leg.

"What's the matter?"

Like a shot, she sat up and listened with keen ears.

"Thunder," her furry companion said.

A rumble sounded from far off in the distance, but unlike the sound of two air masses colliding, this thunder rolled continuously, growing louder each moment.

Night had already fallen when she crept out of the tent. The sky had turned a deep magenta with heavy black clouds suspended in the dead air. Sweat trickled down Rumer's face as she moved closer toward the road.

"That's not thunder," she said as the sound of boot steps approached. "Hide."

Advancing around the corner in a dusty haze, an army of black-clothed Dwarves marched in formation. Their skin was a sickly bluish grey, far from the general ruddy complexion of mountain natives, and their hair and beards were the color of soot.

Rumer watched from her crouched position behind a water barrel while Pasha peered out of the tent.

"What's wrong with their eyes?" he whispered.

Indeed, where their eyes should have been were two blazing orange flames as if the molten core of the earth burned within them.

"I don't know and I don't want to find out," Rumer answered. "We need to leave before they find us."

"If we're heading toward Blackrock Mountain and that's where they're coming from then where do you think they're going?"

She didn't want to think about what evil plan they were up to so far from the volcanic depths of the mountain.

"If I had to guess, I'd say Ironforge."


	8. Chap 8: Son of a Motherless Ogre

"Son of a Motherless Ogre and Other Dwarven Compliments"

"Ironforge? We should go back and warn them."

"No, we shouldn't." Rumer mounted the mistsaber and gave the reins a tug, but Pasha wouldn't budge. Instead he reared up as if he were a Stormwind stallion and dumped her to the ground.

"What was that for?" She rubbed her backside.

"You can't let those mutant Dwarves infiltrate the city."

"We just came from there, and I'm not going back."

"What if the Gnome hasn't made it back yet and gets attacked?"

"He made his own fate when he brought me on a wild goose chase to find that book. I could have been killed."

Pasha snorted.

"Arrested, then," she answered.

He locked eyes with her.

She knew better than to stare down a 300-lb cat, but she also wasn't about to get involved in another senseless war.

"Look, you're not a prisoner anymore. If you want to warn them, I'm not going to stop you."

There was a time when Pasha had been chained against his will by drunken Humans. And even though complete freedom would have been much sweeter for him, he'd chosen to travel with her. Rumer made it clear he didn't owe her anything and could leave whenever he wanted. Though she'd come to rely on his companionship, she wouldn't go back on her word.

He puffed dust out his nose and growled.

Pasha was stubborn, and so was she. There was no way she was going to prolong finding out exactly what Master Shaw knew about her sister's well-being and her father's execution. Not when she was this close.

"I'll warn the next non-mutant Dwarf I see. Let them deal with it," she said and started walking.

She kept her ears pricked for any sound of the giant cat's decision. She hated fighting with him and hated the idea of parting ways even more. Slowing her step imperceptibly, she kept her head erect and her stride even. "Never let them see regret," her father had always said.

Finally, she heard Pasha's shuffling footfall about twenty paces behind. He was pouting, no doubt, but at least hadn't left her.

The shortest path to Blackrock Mountain, the pass between the two smoldering lands good for only coal mining and getting sunburned, was sure to be plagued with more of the sooty, cursed Dwarves, so she chose the more meandering path around the perimeter of the valley and hoped there would be at least some place to siphon water. The few wineskins she'd filled from the barrels at camp wouldn't last long especially once Pasha started drinking.

Even with night upon them, the low clouds of smoke and ash from the Cauldron coal mines trapped the stifling air and oppressive heat close to the ground. Mopping sweat, she streaked brown dust across her cheeks and brow, and even Pasha's usual misty white fur had turned grey as if he'd aged prematurely in the few short hours they'd entered this godforsaken land.

Rumer's mind, perhaps affected by the temperature, drifted back to the chilly spring evenings of her childhood home in Teldrassil. The woods were always cool, the earth always damp. Ferns grew along the forest floor, mushrooms and moss clung to the tree trunks. It had been an odd treat to feel the warmth of a sunbeam on her skin when it showered down through the thick foliage. Sometimes, it would fall perfectly on a flat rock or a fallen tree, and Rumer had always taken advantage of it by warming her pale skin. Most of the time though, she'd felt claustrophobic under the canopy of thick branches and longed to be back in the sun in the white stone courtyard of Stormwind City.

Now, what she wouldn't give to be back in her homeland of trees and cool air. This time without a bounty on her head.

Rounding a curve in the path, Rumer spied three figures keeping post. They were small but not Gnome small. Human children maybe, Dwarves more likely. A hand rested on one of her daggers just in case. She slowed until Pasha caught up with her.

"Company."

He sniffed the air then opened his mouth and let the scent permeate his Flehmen organ. "Dwarves," he decided.

"Mutant?"

He shook his head. "Just dirty."

"Good enough. Let's go."

She strode over to them and waited a few moments as they bickered amongst themselves.

"And just how do you suppose we go about that, Jack?" the burliest of the two male Dwarves asked.

"Well, I don't know now, do I, Coalpart? But there's just the three of us left now, and I don't fancy hanging around here much longer. Me beard's gone all squirrely from this bloody heat."

"It's not a picnic fer the rest of us either. Especially since Prisanne's drunk the last of the grog."

"Now wait just a minute, Burrian Coalpart!" the female Dwarf with the braided buns encircling each ear yelled.

"Excuse me," Rumer said, stepping closer to the group.

Prisanne continued as if the Night Elf had never spoken. "If you'd have sent for supplies when we told ya, we wouldn't be in this fine mess."

"Yeah!" Jack added.

"Excuse me!" Rumer yelled louder to no avail. Pasha snickered at the attempt.

"It's one thing taking a guff from Jack Rockleg, but I won't be spoken against by you too, Prisanne."

"Because I'm a woman?"

"Yer no woman, Dustcropper. I've seen ya outdrink even the heartiest of the Brotherhood and put their belches to shame too."

"You listen here, ya son of a motherless ogre!"

In that split second, the three Dwarves converged on each other—Jack Rockleg held Prisanne back from landing a barrage of punches on Burrian Coalpart's face. Burrian, deflecting as best he could, only managed to tangle his short, fat sausage fingers in his own beard.

Fed up with their shenanigans, not to mention upset at wasting the past five minutes of her life, Rumer withdrew both her daggers, positioned herself between the warring parties, and turned her blades against them. "I said, 'excuse me!'"

At once, the three fighting Dwarves stopped.

"Ya got my attention," Burrian said, a squinty eye roving her body.

"You've got a bigger problem on your hands than who can outbelch whom. We just encountered a small army of soot-streaked Dwarves. Anyone you know?"

The small band exchanged looks.

"Soot-streaked, eh?" He stroked his beard as if he had to think about it, but his eyes told the truth. "Could be Dark Iron Dwarves," Burrian continued. "It's no wonder you saw them. They mine the Cauldron and have dig sites all over this bloody land."

"They were heading north. Out of Searing Gorge."

The smaller of the two male Dwarves, Jack Rockleg, whispered, "Ironforge."

Prisanne let out a shriek but quickly covered her mouth after a glare from Burrian.

"It's Moira, Coalpart," Jack said. "She's gone and done it."

"Done what?" Rumer asked, then amended her question at the hideous grammatical mistake. "Who is she and what did she do?"

"Moira Thaurissan," Burrian answered. "She's been trying to raise an army and take back Ironforge from the Clans for years."

"Do you think she finally did it?" Prisanne asked, worried and clinging to Burrian's arm.

Jack answered instead. "I don't doubt it if she has that worthless panty-waist Ragnaros helping her."

"Ragnaros?"

"The Firelord," Burrian added. "He dwells deep within Blackrock Mountain and commands all the fire elementals. Some say he's found a way to create an army out of pure stone. And Moira wants to lead them."

"Look, I don't know what kind of vendetta she's got against Ironforge, and I don't really care. I just thought I'd warn you in case you wanted to, you know, do something about it."

Rumer sheathed her daggers and began walking away.

Jack shot out to catch up with her. "Can ya help us? They'll incinerate the city."

"Please," Prisanne begged with her round, brown eyes.

"I just traveled two days to get away from there, and I'm wanted in Stormwind." Which wasn't an altogether lie. "I don't have time to go back. But they're on foot, so you can easily reach Ironforge before them."

"How," Jack asked, "when the last ram died at noon? Why do you think we're still here?"

Rumer stole a glance at Pasha, hoping he wouldn't succumb to the same fate. "All the rams died?"

"From thirst."

"And heat exhaustion," Prisanne added.

"And all that fur," finished Burrian.

This worried Rumer, though she wouldn't let her companion know. They were far from any source of water, and she didn't have enough supply for both of them. Though she hated the idea of splitting up, she knew there was only one way for both of them to survive the long trek to Stormwind.

All of a sudden she felt a nudge on the back of her leg, and it seemed Pasha was reading her mind. "You sure?" she whispered to him, and he nodded.

"Take my mount. He's faster than Dwarves on foot, and he can go off road."

She felt a nudge again.

"Oh, and if you come across a Gnome named Glittergold, you'll probably need to rescue him."

The three Dwarves looked at each other, then at Pasha, then at her.

"Yes, he can carry all of you at once."

"Dwarves," Burrian addressed the others, "it's time to save Ironforge."

Rumer handed Burrian one of her wineskins. "This is for Pasha. If he dies, your girlfriend gets it. Understood?"

Prisanne gasped and exchanged looks with Burrian.

"Understood." He fastened it to his belt.

"No, Night Elf," Pasha said. "You need it more than me."

Kneeling down in front of her giant cat, she took his face in her hands and looked him in the eyes. "Don't argue. Now be careful. And I'll be waiting for you in Redridge. And this time take the gryphon back."

"I'll be there." A rough, pink tongue scraped up the side of her face.

"Gross. Now get out of here."

The Dwarves clambered onto the mistsaber's back and held onto each other for dear life as Pasha galloped away.

Rumer watched after them until her best friend in all the world was just a grey speck against the scarlet sky.


	9. Chap 9: In Search of Alcohol

"In Search of Alcohol and a Purpose"

Just a few yards ahead on the left, Rumer came upon the makings of a Dark Iron dig site. She noticed first the kegs stacked neatly behind a rocky hillock. Either they were filled with gunpowder or water, neither of which she had any use for, but the Dwarves were sure to have some kind of alcohol lying around.

Sunrise, from what she could tell, would be in a few minutes, so she had to work fast if she wanted to loot what little wealth and sustenance these mutant geologists had stored before they awoke. The camp looked deserted enough, but as she crept closer, she noticed large piles of dark stones beginning to move. At first, Rumer didn't believe it. Maybe a drop of sweat had blurred her vision or the oppressive heat had finally taken its toll, so rubbing her eyes and shaking her head clear, she approached slowly.

No, it was definitely not her imagination. The piles of stones scraped together to form giant, lumbering golems. They trolled the path and surrounding hills as if they were just waiting for a chance to kill. They must be part of the army Prisanne, Jack, and Burrian Coalpart had been talking about.

Slipping into stealth mode, she ventured as close to one as she dared and took note of the intricately carved details: the overgrown Dwarven beard and mustache, the inscribed helm and armor, and even the sandaled feet complete with crusty toenails. Solid stone, yet animated. Whoever created these golems were master craftsmen and magicians. The army even shot fire out their mouths from deep within their core, as unsuspecting Fire Beetles and Glassweb Spiders met their demise.

For a moment, Rumer entertained the thought of hiring the golems to sear some bear flank, though the likelihood of finding a bear in these parts was unlikely.

Not willing to get any hotter than she already was, Rumer steered clear of the golems and made quick work of quenching her thirst for the moment and picking the sleeping Dwarves' pockets. One never knew when a few pieces of silver would come in handy, and she didn't know how long it would take for Pasha to meet up with her in Redridge. She could already taste the chilled tavern ale she would no doubt overindulge in there.

Keeping her eye on the towering volcanic mountain in the distance, Rumer continued to trudge along the path. Though she had often run alongside Pasha as they traveled, rather than make him carry her, she felt an ache in her hips and back from the trek. Perspiration, no, sweat, drenched her skin. Her leather panoply became too tight and too hot to bear, so it wasn't long before she stripped down to her cotton tunic.

Rumer was known for choosing some risqué pieces of armor and received much chiding from Pasha about them, but what she wouldn't give right now for the leggings that stopped about six inches above her knees. Even if her choices hadn't always been protective, at least they were well ventilated.

Mopping her face with the Defias handkerchief, she couldn't remember a time when withdrawal from alcohol felt this miserable.

As she ventured further into Searing Gorge, the number of chicken carcasses increased and foretold the presence of predators. They were unlikely to be from any of the usual suspects—bears or wolves, because of the distinct lack of water in the region, so she could only imagine what kind of vile creature could endure this clime and had developed a taste for whitish meat.

It wasn't long before she found out. Having never seen such creatures before, their thick, orange, leathered-skin and sharp fuchsia spines webbed together along the creatures' backs, astonished her. But unlike lizards, these beasts were the size of small dragons. Luckily, they were too busy chasing prey to notice her approach. She'd heard of adventurers hunting these primal beasts for their hides, and what she wouldn't give to have a set of leather armor made from incendosaur skin, but they were also hunted for their meat. It tastes like chicken, people said. And why wouldn't it, seeing as that was all there was to eat?

The idea of trying to slice through that hide just for chicken meat didn't appeal to her—she was more of an herbivore by nature, preferring to live off what she could gather in her travels, though she was not opposed to indulging in a shank of meat, if cooked properly. Unfortunately, her cooking skills ranged from raw to burnt and nothing in between.

The sun had only been up for a few hours when the heat really began to take its toll on her. Rumer felt nauseated just thinking about food, and the water in her wineskin was close to boiling when she finished off the last drop. Even though she was sure she was gaining ground on Blackrock Mountain, it never seemed to look any closer. She just hoped that once she made it inside the giant carved doors, she could rest her head on the cool stone floor.

With each step up the steep incline toward the entrance, the pain in Rumer's hips almost brought her to her knees. She cursed Searing Gorge, its molten core, the Cauldron and the Dark Iron Dwarves. Almost in tears, she mourned for Pasha and the Thorium Brotherhood's dead rams. She realized just how treacherous this pilgrimage was and how Pasha never would have made it this far with all that fur, but she wished he was here nonetheless. He would tell her to straighten up, put some clothes on, and stop crying. It was easy for him to say; he was frolicking through the snow on his way to Ironforge this very moment.

With her last ounce of energy, she heaved herself through the giant, carved doors to Blackrock Mountain and threw herself on the ground. She lay there on the stone floor with sweat pooling around her body. Her throat stung and, when she ran her tongue across her lips, she felt only dry, cracked skin.

This was not how she was supposed to die—dehydrated and half naked. No, she had always envisioned herself the last rogue standing around the dead bodies of her sister's abductors, glorious, yet succumbing to the wounds of battle once and for all. In her dying breath, she would take comfort that she had avenged her family's tragic demise. The Nightblade line would die with her, but its legacy would live on in the Dwarven annals stuffed high on an Ironforge bookshelf and be forgotten by everyone except Glittergold.

 _Glittergold?_

There was no way she was going to die with her last thought being about that Gnome. Or being sober.

If she remembered correctly, there was only one place a girl could get a cold drink around here, and it was deep in the heart of Molten Span. There was word about a secret inn that served only the most dangerous and inebriated of patrons. Bloody Dwarves, Goblins, and yes, even Gnomes would all be there. Well, they were going to serve her, a washed-up, has-been Night Elf assassin trained by Master Mathias Shaw himself.

Now she just had to stand up, put some pants on, and stop crying. If only her tears weren't dried up with the rest of her.

Instead of growing cooler as Rumer descended deep into the bowels of Black Rock Mountain, the temperature rose as a force of hot, oppressive air rushed up the tunnels and overtook her. She staggered down along the winding corridor, pressing forward through the heavy air, her head bowed as if it were being crushed by rocks. Sweat dripped from her nose and hissed on the hot stone floors. If there was another way to Stormwind from here, she would have seriously considered backtracking, but according to the maps she'd studied while at SI:7, this was the shortest and most direct way by foot. And besides, that first drop of Dwarven ale would taste so much better after enduring this much agony.

Sobriety had never been a positive character trait for Rumer. She learned at a young age how alcohol numbed the hatred and abandonment she'd felt since that day her father had been executed in Teldrassil and her sister had closed the trapdoor on her, promising they would reunite in Darnassus.

That day never came. She'd waited months hiding among the trees, under the vendors' shops, living on fish she'd stolen from the docks. She had never been caught, which reinforced young Rumer's penchant for thieving. At first, she'd just stolen discarded food and scraps of leather for clothing. Then she realized she could steal other things too, like silver coins and gold from unsuspecting travelers.

 _On one particular occasion, she'd been holing up near the inn, waiting for one of its occupants to stumble into the night air, trip down the steps (with a little help from her), and pass out at her feet, so she could pick the unlucky bastard's pockets. Only, she didn't find any coins on this occasion. She found instead a wineskin, its dark purple liquid seeping into the ground as the stupid Human fell into an inebriated slumber._

 _Picking it up quickly, she took a long drink, parched from the warm summer day and brilliant sunshine. The liquid inside wasn't sweet like the Snapvine Watermelon juice her father had often brought back from the city and couldn't have been made with anything native to Teldrassil. It took several seconds and two long gulps before the sour, fermented fruit bit her tongue and, when it did, she spat it out in a spray all over the drunkard's face._

 _She was about to pour the rest of it on him when she felt a warmth creep from her belly and a fizzy feeling in her brain as if tiny bubbles had somehow begun to percolate. Contemplating the strange sensations inside her body, she thought better of wasting the dark liquid and crept away from the inn to her makeshift shelter under one of the shops in Tradesmen's Terrace._

 _After dark, the vendors closed their doors, some traveling back to their homes outside the city, some to the inn for a hearth-cooked meal and the day's gossip. The crawl space beneath the blade merchant's shop was Rumer's home. An unattended wolf pelt curing near a huntsman's shack became her bed, her blanket stitched together from cloth remnants snatched from the robe merchant's trash. Stored in a small trinket box camouflaged with dirt and stable hay were a few candle stubs saved for emergencies._

 _Even in the dark, she knew every dip, stone, and tree root between the inn and the blade merchant's; however, tonight, she lost her balance and stumbled over nonexistent obstacles._ Curious _, she thought, and a giggle escaped her lips. Clapping a hand to her mouth, she whirled around to make sure no one had heard her, then scrambled on all fours into her hideout._

 _The lanterns in the shop above were dark, and at last she was home. Giggling again, she sprawled out on the wolf pelt and, for the first time, really felt the softness of the fur beneath her hand. She wondered at how she'd never noticed this before and wondered how many other things she'd never noticed while trying to stay hidden and safe. The leather wineskin in her hand, for instance, was worn and smooth, pliable, and almost cool to the touch. Inside, the liquid undulated, much like the way the warmth from its contents did in her veins._

 _She sipped more, the wine, still sour, was less repulsive than it had tasted earlier. With each swallow, waves lapped at her senses. For once, she wasn't worried about being discovered, accused of being a traitor's daughter, arrested, and thrown in jail. Or worse. For once, she didn't think about how her sister had left her to fend for herself all these months. How she would never see her again. How she would be alone for the rest of her life. Lost._

 _No. Somehow the magical elixir she'd drunk tonight made her feel strong and capable of anything._

 _She didn't need Whisperra to come to her rescue. Or her father to be the hero she'd always thought him to be. Rumer had survived this long on her own without any help from anyone. She'd watched the soldiers train on Warrior's Terrace then mimicked their moves, she'd listened to the craftsmen discuss their professions and tried her hand at mixing potions, and she'd practiced the skills she'd been taught during her schooling at SI:7. There was nowhere she couldn't go in Darnassus. She was invisible. There was nothing she couldn't do. She was invincible._

 _And she wasn't about to waste any more time lamenting her past._

 _Finishing the last of the wine, she settled back on her bed and laughed._

And thus began her life in search of alcohol and a purpose.


	10. Chapter 10: Molten Core Lava Cakes

"Molten Core Lava Cakes"

The search for booze was easy. Especially when you live on the fringe and keep company with scoundrels and Blood Elves. And it was easier for Rumer to pretend her purpose was to get drunk rather than face the possibility her sister really had abandoned her.

If she weren't in such dire, sweaty straits, her body temperature rising and her brain swooning from withdrawals, she would have given her last breath just inside the entrance and given up on reaching Stormwind. But knowing a tavern was somewhere within the mountain depths was enough to push her through the last bit of tunnel and into the center of the Molten Core.

This vast pool of bubbling fire and liquid earth gurgled from deep within and scorched everything including the air. Rumer stared across the orange pool to the entrance of the quarry and Black Rock Depths. The only thing between her and the Grim Guzzler was a giant, steel linked chain. It must have supported a bridge at one time but, from the looks of it, the stone walkway had either been purposefully destroyed to keep faction raids from finding out what Ragnaros was up to or to keep the Dark Iron Dwarves trapped in servitude.

Either way, the only way she was getting to that tavern and essentially out the other side of Black Rock Mountain was across that chain.

Many a foolish treasure-seeker had tried to traverse the steel support links. If their leather boots hadn't melt on contact, they would have eventually lost their balance and plummeted to their deaths in molten lava. Rumer looked down and imagined the pool, instead of fire and brimstone, a decadent fountain of hot fudge. One of her favorite desserts was most certainly a molten lava cake. She'd only had it once before; a specialty of Stormwind's renowned baker, Thomas Miller, the delicious chocolate cake had been part of the celebration dinner for SI:7 graduates the year before her father had been executed. Ebon had attended the ceremony with Master Shaw and even made a speech. For the life of her, Rumer couldn't remember what he he'd talked about, but she remembered the thick, warm fudge oozing like lava from inside a chocolate cake shell.

Now as she looked over the expanse of the Molten Span, her foot teetering on the remaining stone ledge, she envisioned herself diving into the pool of chocolate lava and indulging to her heart's content. It would have been sweeter than any alcohol she could hope to find on Azeroth in so many ways. For once, her senses wouldn't be numbed and instead fully alive and in bliss.

This wasn't chocolate though, she had to remind herself and, if she wasn't focused, one wrong step and she'd be boiled alive.

Luckily, her balance had always been good, and despite her long, muscular limbs, she was agile, quicker than a mistsaber and just as sure on her feet. A lifetime of scampering through tree limbs, scaling walls, and traversing narrow ledges had given her an advantage over most of the other races on Azeroth—stocky Dwarves, clunky-hooved Draenei, even the more proportionately-built Humans—though that small consolation seemed to disappear as she took her first steps across the chain.

Rumer kept her gaze about ten feet in front of her and made it halfway across the chain when a drop of sweat rolled into her eye. Blinded and eyeball stinging, she lost her center and wobbled precariously over the edge of the steel links, one foot slipping, the other, toes gripping, for control. For once, glad the soles of her boots were so threadbare, she righted herself, and jetéd across the remaining length of the makeshift bridge.

Tumbling off the end of the chain, she paid a silent prayer to the solid ground beneath her feet and descended further into the depths of Black Rock Mountain.

It was easy enough to circumvent the Dark Iron Dwarves working in the quarry. Their bloody red eyes seemed glazed and focused on the task at hand, and their bodies moved as if driven by a motor they didn't control. She didn't even need to slip into stealth mode. Not that she felt up to it anyway. It took too much concentration, something of which she didn't have at the moment.

Around the bend, she spied the entrance to the protected stronghold and found herself in a giant cavernous room. There was no place to hide, no shadows to meld into. Just a reddish glow, a few piles of rocks, and a darkened corridor on the far side leading deeper into evil Dwarf territory. A few steps into the room and, as if on cue, a group of devilish, fire-glowing hounds led by a surly hound master entered from the corridor and made their way around the outskirts.

 _Patrol_ , Rumer thought. A timed circuit to keep strangers, raiders, and alcoholic rogues from infiltrating the underground city. A few crème-filled dogs and one pre-programmed Dwarf was no match for her poisoned blades. If she'd been at her full wits, she would have just melded into the walls and skirted around them out the other side, but killing them before they could strike seemed more logical. At least that way, they wouldn't be able to sneak up on her later.

Yes, a barrage of poison-tipped stars and a dagger's blade to the beard-hidden throat was all that was needed. In a matter of seconds, their bodies stained the floor, and Rumer hurried for the corridor before the next patrol was released.

It was much darker here, the tunnel lit with only a few flaming sconces drilled into the stone, and damper as the floor sloped down into the mountain. The air chilled her skin as her sweat evaporated.

On either side, carved into the walls at regular intervals were prison cells with iron gates. Any number of wretched creatures, dead or alive, could be holed up in them. It was best to just keep moving, not attract attention, and be on the lookout for any more deranged patrol units.

"Psst," a dry, cracked hiss escaped.

Rumer spun around to face the voice and saw only an empty expanse of black behind a prison cell. She bared a dagger nonetheless.

"I'm the one trapped, and you need a weapon for protection?" the voice asked.

It belonged to a female, as near as she could tell, though she didn't rule out an effeminate Blood Elf either.

"Are you going to get me out of here, or what?" the hidden voice continued.

Rumer stepped closer to the cell door, and a face appeared.

"Night Elf," Rumer stated, surprised.

"I'd ask if you've never seen one before, but that would be stupid." In the ancient Darnassian language, the prisoner added, "Elune-Adore."

Rumer scoffed. "I don't pray to Elune. And I don't stick my neck out for Night Elves either."

"We're not the most forgiving lot, I'll give you that," the female prisoner said. "But it's kind of hard to forget where you come from."

"No, it's not. I haven't stepped foot in Darnassus in over ten years. And if I did, I'd be dead before I reached Warrior Terrace."

The Night Elf made a noise as if she understood, then added, "My name's Kthae, but you can call me K. So are you going to get me out of here, or what?"

"Why should I? You're probably in there for a good reason."

K sighed. "Well, technically I did let my whole raid team die."

"Yeah. Like I'm really going to trust you not to kill me the moment I open this door."

"You're an assassin, am I right, I'm just a healer. A weakened one at that. I've only stayed alive this long because I've been able to kill rats with a Moonfire spell and eat them."

Rumer gagged. "Yuck."

"Exactly," she said. "Besides you're sick. And I can heal you."

"I'm not sick."

"I can smell it from here. You have a fever. You're weak. You can't stealth, you can't shadow meld, and you certainly can't reach the Grim Guzzler by yourself."

"How do you know that's where I'm going?"

"You're an alcoholic, aren't you? You reek of it. If you don't get a drink soon, you'll probably die. Do you even know how to get there?"

Ignoring her last question, Rumer said, "Why would I trust you? You let your team die."

"They deserved it. But you…you have an agenda. There's something you need to accomplish and it's not in Black Rock Depths."

"And if you think saving your ass is it, you're wrong."

"You'll never make it to the Grim Guzzler. I give you another ten minutes, less if you have to fight, before you pass out and wind up in one of these cells. At which time you will be of no use to me."

"I'm fine."

"You're ready to keel over. Now get me out of here, and I'll fix you."

"With what? You're weakened Moonfire? No thanks. I'd rather live."

As Rumer began to walk away, K said, "You've got nine minutes now. Good luck."

There was a shuffling sound and the imprisoned healer sank back into the shadows of her cell.

The last thing Rumer needed was another Night Elf tagging along, one who could really be a bounty hunter posing as a prisoner just waiting to be freed then take the rogue back to Darnassus and collect her reward. Though if she wasn't mistaken, K's facial tattoos were that of a nature-loving tree-hugger and her eyes amber, the color of a practicing druid. She herself had never been initiated and as such didn't have tattooed eyes, making her all the more recognizable. Still, it was disconcerting that K could smell the fever and the alcohol, or lack thereof, on her.

Besides, it was over a decade ago that Ebon had been executed and a warrant was put out for Rumer and Whisperra's capture. Surely, it wasn't still active, and surely no one still alive even cared. All the same, it was best not to make herself known to anyone.

As her conscience contemplated whether to free K from prison, a fireball crackled through the air and narrowly missed singeing Rumer's hair. Backing against the stone corridor, she spied a group of Dark Iron Dwarves accompanied by a gaggle of living flame creatures and a few devil dogs standing guard several yards away. She flattened herself as much as possible and tried to vanish, but the effort left her dizzy and nauseated.

The hounds must have picked up her scent the same way K did because the next thing she knew, they were snarling and barking and racing toward her. Straightening, Rumer bared her daggers and braced for the onslaught. As each dog pounced, she thrust her blades into necks, bellies, and jaws until she was covered in blood and fur, scratches and bite marks. Fireballs, still being hurtled toward her, burned her nose with the stench of charred hound meat.

A few acrobatic ducks, tucks, and rolls, and she managed to narrowly escape the never-ending barrage of flameballs, but it was the stocky-legged sword-wielding Dwarf she hadn't seen coming. A less-than-sharpened sword edge gouged along her torso, tearing her only shirt.

Rumer gritted her teeth and groaned as scary as any warrior's battle cry.

The leather jerkin, epaulets, and superhero cape had all been systematically disrobed as her fever had climbed higher since stepping foot in Searing Gorge.

"You're wounded!" Grasping her hands around the prison cell bars, Kthae called to Rumer. "Stand still. I'll throw you some heals!"

"Kind of hard when I've got Grumpy Dwarf trying to hack me to pieces, but I'll try."

Rumer positioned herself to receive the Dwarven beast's attack right in front of K's prison cell. Her right side was gaping in jagged cuts, fresh blood oozed down her torso and stained around the rips in her tunic. K threw down a magical seed out of which grew a giant mushroom, swirling with green fungi fumes.

"Stand in the green swirls. It will staunch the bleeding."

But it was too late. She'd already lost a lot of blood and the gash was probably already infected between the dirty, rusty blade of the sword and the filthy, sweaty flesh of the Night Elf assassin. She felt a swoon coming on but not one that would end with a handsome stranger catching her and falling hopelessly in love with her. No, with her track record, she'd end up being run over by a traveling merchant's cart before anyone thought to roll her out of the way.

The Dark Iron Dwarf came again, along with some more pesky fireballs from his flaming minions several yards back. The guard was a good couple of feet shorter than her, the highest his swing could reach would be just under her breasts. Refusing to lose her best assets, she coated a stack of throwing stars with Instant poison and flung them out in a fanlike fashion. The Dwarf's obviously over-compensating sword deflected one of the sharpened stars, lodging it right back into Rumor's upper arm.

Killed by her own Instant Poison. There should be a warning on the label—don't get yourself infected. She could feel it thickening her blood as it trailed through her veins. Her limbs became heavier, her breath labored, even her brain was being enshrouded in black smog.

Next time a Night Elf druid offers to heal you before you get killed with your own weapon, she thought, take her up on it.

"K," she called out feebly, still managing to maneuver out of the Dwarf's reach.

"Hang on. I got this."

But her vision blurred and everything turned a sickly color before her eyes. She swung at the Dwarf but he'd already slipped around her by the time her dagger had thrust the air. "Everything's green. I can't see."

"Shut up and breathe."

Rumer didn't know which was more painful, being told to shut up or breathing into a wound that was congealing with poisoned blood, but she did as she was told because it might just be her last breath and it actually smelled like her forest home after a fresh spring rain. This wasn't exactly how she'd planned on dying—she thought it'd be more at the hands of someone else's stupidity rather than her own—and the thought of never seeing Pasha again started her eyes swelling. And then she thought about all the things that would never happen: she'd never find out if her sister was dead or alive, she'd never get to confront Mathias Shaw about his role in her father's execution, never see him gasp his last breath as she slit his throat for signing the orders. Never see Captain Brightsun's handsome face again.

"What are you waiting for?" K hissed from inside her cell. "You're healed. Fight!"

Rumer looked down at her arm to see the Instamatic poison wound was nothing more than a pale pink scar, and the jagged tear of flesh on her torso was already closed and healing. Before she could even acknowledge that her vision had returned and her breathing had steadied, she saw the Dark Iron Dwarf catapulting toward her like a kamikaze warrior.

Instinctively, Rumer rolled back with the Dwarf until she was fixed on top of him then plunged her dagger into his gut and twisted. The flaming minions, somehow magically tethered to the Dwarf, disappeared in a puff of smoke as their master expired on the ground.

"What took you so long? I thought I was going to have to drink a potion."

Oh, right. The druid had saved her life. Now she was going to keep her end of the bargain.

A few twists at the tumblers and the lock was picked. Rumer swung open the cell door. "You saved my life. Now I'm saving yours." She stepped aside and let the druid out, who looked cautiously down one end of the corridor then the other.

With a heave, K said, "That was tough. I'm exhausted. Time for a drink."

"Are you kidding me? I'm the one who did all the work. I almost died."

"Do you know how hard it was to keep you alive? I'm surprised you've lived this long all alone."

Rumer pouted. "I'm sick."

"Nothing a little drink won't fix." K winked then asked, "You coming?"

No harm in having a companion who didn't actually try to get her to stop drinking the way Pasha did, so she accepted this new quest.

"Only if you admit that sick or not, I kicked that Dwarf's ass."

Grinning, K led the way toward the Grim Guzzler.


	11. Chap 11: Dwarves, Keys, and Other Odd

"Dwarves, Keys, and Other Oddities"

The rest of the journey to the Grim Guzzler went much the way one would think—fighting, healing, a fan of knives, a flurry of restorative leaves. Rumer sweated out most of her fever while Kthae cast spells and munched apples from a safe distance. The battles inside the Halls of Law and the Ring of Law and were easier and less bloody for the rogue despite her illness. Having a Restoration druid as backup, even one who'd let her whole raid team die, was comforting.

Despite her fever breaking, Rumer was dehydrated. Her head felt as if it were being pounded between two ogres' hammers, and the muscles in her calves cramped so much that she could hardly walk upright. For once, she thought of the cool spring water that bubbled up in the sacred pools of Teldrassil instead of alcohol. As children running around their forest home with reckless abandon, she and Whisperra would stop at the pools and sneak gulps of the fresh, cold water before they were chased away by the Keepers.

Whether it was an illness-induced hallucination or a Blackrock Depths mirage, she could see the thick, green foliage overhead, the marble-lined pool in the distance, and the crystal blue water rippling in the breeze. Whisperra was giggling by the Shrine to Elune and beckoning her sister to come join her. Rumer, giggling now too, ran toward her.

Just as she reached out to grab Whisperra's hand, the hallucination dissolved and the entrance to the Grim Guzzler came into view.

Rumer and Kthae stood at the massive oak doors listening for any sound of trouble inside. Black Rock Depths had held many dangers around every corner—luckily, most of them were only four feet tall—but an entire room filled with drunken, angry Dwarves against a weak, feverish rogue and a circumspect healer was not comforting.

"What do I need to know before I go in there?" Rumer asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Kthae said.

Rumer unsheathed a dagger just in case.

The two Night Elves exchanged looks, placed a hand on each door, and pushed.

The din of raucous Dwarven laughter and trilled curses hit them first. Then the stench. Sweat and soot filtered through alcohol-clogged pores burned their nose hairs. Kthae's eyes rolled back and she stopped inhaling. Rumer was just thankful Pasha wasn't here or he would have dropped dead. She hoped that's not what she smelled like to him and vowed to bathe more often.

Row upon rows of long wooden tables filled the dusky room and were crammed with hairy, bearded, armored Dwarves. And that was just the women.

K motioned to a four-top across from the bar. "Let's grab that table and try to blend in."

The likelihood of two seven-foot tall pasty Night Elves with pointy ears and long wispy eyebrows—one with a tattooed face—blending in wasn't going to happen, but Rumer hid under the hood of her wrinkled cloak and scrunched down in her seat nonetheless.

Almost at once, the barmaid arrived at their table. "What can I get fer ya?"

"Your strongest and cheapest ale," Rumer answered.

The female Dwarf broke into a hearty chuckle and said before waddling away, "You're at the Grim Guzzler, ladies. That's all we serve."

"That's comforting," the druid muttered.

Whether it was the close air, the much needed rest, or the fever coming back, Rumer swooned. She hadn't felt this bad since entering the mountain. For a while there, breaking Kthae out of her cell, fighting off devil dogs and Dark Iron Dwarves, she'd almost forgotten she was sick. Or maybe K's healing spells were just wearing off.

"You don't look so good. You're pale even for an Elf."

"I'm fine. I just need a drink."

As if on cue, the barmaid slammed down two flaming tankards of ale.

"Sulfuron Slammers. The name's Topsy, for obvious reasons," she grabbed her ample bosom in both hands, "so if you be needing anything else, give me a holler."

Before she even finished her sentence, Rumer had drained the tankard. "Topsy, another. And keep them coming."

Topsy chuckled again, quite possibly because she knew something about the booze the young rogue wouldn't until it was too late, and shuffled off for a refill.

With that bit of business taken care of, Rumer checked her surroundings. It was always best to have an escape plan ready especially if the booze didn't do anything to make her feel better. On the wall behind them were the doors they entered from. Opposite was another door, presumably an exit, and across the expanse of the room behind the bar was a door that likely led to the keg storage room. From what she could tell, there wasn't anything noteworthy about the Grim Guzzler.

"What's so special about Blackrock Depths that a bunch of raiders would risk their lives?"

"Treasure. What else?"

"I take it you didn't find any, and that's why you let them die."

"I wasn't here for the treasure."

"Then what?"

Kthae looked away. She seemed to be scanning the room. Rumer's eyes followed her gaze.

"Look, you let yourself get locked up for a reason, and you needed me, just me, to get you out. And it wasn't because you were concerned for my health. Any fool with an axe could have busted the door down. And to be honest, the lock on that thing was a joke."

Kthae drained her tankard before speaking.

"A spark."

"A spark?"

"An ember, actually. From Lord Incendius."

At the look of confusion on Rumer's face, K continued. "That's what I came here for. The ember. I thought if I tagged along with the treasure hunters, they would help me get it. Boy, was I wrong."

"So you killed them?"

"I didn't kill them," her voice rose to a whiny pitch. "I just didn't save them."

"There's a difference?"

"If I tried to keep them all alive, I would have died."

"That was your job!"

"They were louts! Besides, they never would have been able to get me the ember." She averted her eyes.

"But I can?" The druid placed more faith in a rogue's abilities than she should have. One does not simply get that close to a flaming ball of fire.

"Look," Rumer continued, "this seems more like a job for a mage. And I know just the one to help you. Let me go call him." Rumer started to get up. The faster she got away from this crazy druid, the better. In her mind, she'd already paid off her debt. Besides, the Elf's heals were wearing off.

"I don't want you to kill Incendius. I want you to steal a key from that guy."

She pointed to the tiny green Gnome who stood on top of the bar and barked orders.

He looked nothing like the white-haired, jolly-faced, though infuriatingly annoying, Glittergold. No, this Gnome had a green mottled face underneath a red handlebar mustache and devil beard.

"What's wrong with his skin? It looks like it's falling off."

"He's a Leper Gnome. So it's best not to get too close to him."

Topsy arrived with two more tankards. "Anything I can get you lasses from the kitchen? Pickled eggs, rock-salted pretzels?"

"How about information on that guy," Rumer said, nodding toward the Leper.

"Oh, you don't want to mess with that one. No sir. That'd be Plugger Spazzring, the barkeep here and a nasty son-of-a-bitch if you get him mad. Actually, even if you don't. I've seen him immolate a patron or two in my day just for not finishing a drink. But mostly he just sends Phalanx after the troublemakers."

Fully animated and guarding the rear door, Phalanx was the same kind of giant stone golem, with cavernous holes for hands that looked like they could suck a person straight into hell if they caught you that she'd seen back in Searing Gorge.

"We'll try not to get into trouble then," Rumer answered.

After Topsy left, Rumer turned on Kthae with a hiss. "A Leper Gnome and a giant dick? What's so important about this key?"

"It's the only way to get out that door."

"Can't we just leave out the same one we came in from?"

The druid shook her head. "You can only reach Incendius through there. Believe me, I've tried."

Rumer slumped over the table in defeat. "Let me get this straight. You led your raid team in here just to get the key to open a door that leads to a flaming spark, let everyone die at the hands of _them_ ," she motioned to the patrons, "and allowed yourself to be imprisoned just so you can try again when the next stupid rogue shows up?"

"I wouldn't exactly say next. You're the only one."

Rumer sighed and held her head.

"Look, this isn't a quest that can be completed by brute strength. It took me awhile, but I figured it out. With your stealth and my Shadowmeld abilities, I think we can do it." Her eyes gleamed a brilliant amber.

"What do you need this spark for?"

"Ember, actually. And it's the only thing that can keep the fire at the Darnassus healing springs alight."

Rumer shrugged, drawing a blank.

"The flame needs to be reignited every one hundred years to keep the waters hot, and the only

way to do that is with an ember from the earth's core itself."

"Which Incendius protects on orders from Ragnaros," Rumer added.

Kthae nodded. "If I don't get this ember, the flame will die, and the Restoration druids will become extinct. I don't have to tell you, Rumer, without healers our race, _our_ race, will die too. Time is running out. And you don't know how long I've been waiting for one stupid rogue to show up."

Rumer scowled then slammed back the last of her drink. "All right, tell me everything you know about this fight."


	12. Chap 12: Never Trust a Rogue

"Never Trust a Rogue"

Kthae divulged everything she knew about Plugger and the key over several more Sulfuron Slammers. It wasn't going to be pretty.

The story went that once Plugger discovered the key was missing from his back pocket, and he would discover it, he would immediately place a quarantine on the Inn. No one would be allowed to leave or enter. Worse, he'd refuse to sell any more alcohol until the culprit was caught. Of course this would infuriate the Dark Iron Dwarves, and you didn't want to infuriate them. A brawl would ensue, one you wouldn't want to be caught up in, Phalanx would be angered and start crushing heads in those cavernous appendages.

The plan, as the two Night Elves had devised, was to have Kthae cower in the shadows near the rear door while Rumer innocently plucked Plugger's key. Then a quick pick of the lock and the two would be long gone before Phalanx even noticed.

"And what's in it for me?" Rumer asked.

"Gold. Enough to fly you anywhere you want."

That was good enough for her. The quicker she got the hell out of BRD, the quicker she could get to Redridge and reunite with Pasha. Providing he would make it there alive.

Draining the last bit of drink, Rumer stretched. "Let's move out."

"Anyone know where a girl can powder her nose around here?" Kthae's movement across the room created enough distraction without suspicion for Rumer to slip into stealth. It wasn't exactly clear how the druid was able to do it, but she within seconds, she was nigh invisible inside the shadows at her post. As long as she didn't move, Phalanx wouldn't even bat an eye at her. If he had one.

Slinking through the throng of patrons, Rumer positioned herself behind Plugger who was still barking orders from his bar-topped perch. She took care to not touch his leprous skin as her fingers slipped into his pocket and withdrew the Grim Guzzler Key.

With it concealed in her hand, she headed straight for the back door as fast as she could without breaking stealth.

She was a mere inches away from her destination when Plugger cried out, "Stop everything! Nobody move! Someone has stolen my key!"

The Dwarves remained motionless for a mere five seconds, but they had been through this before. Once the alcohol stopped flowing, they would be reminded of their miserable existence and never-ending servitude to Ragnaros.

They sprang to life, fists-a-flying and beards-a-swaying. Phalanx hurled their stocky, sooty bodies at various walls around the room, and Plugger shot fireballs with the accuracy of a one-eyed hunter. Topsy jumped into the fray and jumped on top of a burly Dwarf, riding him like a bucking mountain goat and whooping up a storm until he stopped pummeling the other guy to deal with her.

K and Rumer's shadows exchanged incredulous looks. "The second I move, they'll be able to see me."

"Then make it snappy. On the count of three. One…" Rumer stuck the key in the lock and turned it. "Two…" She threw down a Distraction, though doubtful it would work. "Three!" She kicked open the door, and Kthae bolted through.

Ducking just as one of Plugger's fireballs was about to light up her face, Rumer lurched over the threshold and slammed the door, locking everyone else inside.

The two Night Elves raced through the stone tunnels putting as much distance between them and the angry, trapped Dwarves as they could. Rumer was sure, though, it wouldn't take long for Phalanx to pummel his way out.

When they reached a vestibule, Rumer stopped. "All right. I did my part. If you'll just pay up and point me to the nearest exit, I'll be out of here."

"Not yet."

She unsheathed a dagger and bared it on the druid. "I did what you asked. And I don't do anything for free."

"We're not done," Kthae said, placing a hand on Rumer's arm to lower the weapon. "I still need you. Behind this door is Incendius. I need you to help me get what I came for."

Rumer replaced her weapon. "Look, picking a Leper's pocket is one thing, but sticking my hand into a hot, flaming mess is not part of my skill set."

"Please," K begged. "I can't do this alone. This is the closest I've ever gotten and time is running out. I have to get back to Darnassus with that ember."

"Then I'd say you better get moving." Backing away, Rumer opened her hand and revealed a leather pouch clinking with coins.

K grabbed for her belt and the money pouch that should have been hanging there.

"Never trust a rogue," Rumer said and ran off.

Despite the potency of the Sulfuron Slammers, she was beginning to feel that annoying nag in the pit of her stomach. Usually she only felt it when Pasha badgered her about helping some poor soul in distress.

True, the druid was in a bit of a bind, but Pasha wasn't here to talk her into helping out. Besides she'd lost so much time; it seemed like ages since she'd met Captain Brightsun and learned her sister was still alive.

If she didn't get to Mathias Shaw soon, Whisperra could be long gone. Or long dead.

In fact, anything could have happened to her since Shipmaster Grimble had seen her with Glittergold. Whisperra could have confronted Master Shaw and been assassinated by his First Finger, whomever that had become after their father's execution.

She wouldn't be surprised if Mathias Shaw promoted the bastard executioner himself.

A faint rumble pricked Rumer's sensitive ears as she hurried along. The sound echoed against the stone tunnels. A sound she'd heard before that grew louder and more distinct with each step she took.

Dwarves! Dark Iron Dwarves. And lots of them. Marching toward her.

Her options were few. The tunnel was narrow, curving with no exits or escape. Without a ferocious cat to help even the numbers, she had no choice but to turn around. Strange she hadn't realized before how much she relied on Pasha. And here she had always considered herself to be self-reliant. A loner who kept the giant saber around out of pity and a free ride.

In her younger, wilder days, she would have been foolish enough to fight her way through a throng a Dwarves—after all, they were only waist-high, and a swift knee to their chins could easily knock them out for a while. But she wasn't drunk enough now, and the fever had left her muscles weak and sore.

Groaning at the thought of fleeing from a fight, she turned on her heel and raced back toward K. Elune only knew the druid would need help if the Dwarves reached her before she finished with Incendius.

The door to the fire lord's lair was open partially as Kthae was assessing the situation from the crack.

"We've got company," Rumer said.

K whipped around. "What?"

"Either we take out an army of Dwarves or we face that flaming demon and get your spark."

"Ember," she corrected. "You get the demon, and I'll get your back."

They burst through the door, Rumer's daggers bared, K's spells at the ready, into an orange cavernous room. Except for a small platform at either end of the room connected by a precarious stone bridge and larger platform in the center, the rest of the floor was several hundred, if not thousands of, feet below in a fiery pit of hell. One false move and they'd be toast.

Three groups of two fire elementals each that had been guarding the entrance immediately rushed the Night Elves with fireballs and arrows of flame. Heat seared and skin blistered as they whooshed past Rumer's face and arms. She dodged the onslaught with the agility of a Dark Moon Faire acrobat. Each tiptoed step forward thrust her poisoned daggers deeper into the elements' cores, squelching the flames and their casting time.

With Kthae's heals, Rumer made quick work of the guards. "I thought there'd be more."

The druid gestured toward the far platform. A blinding light pierced their eyes, and the temperature rose so quickly that Rumer broke out in a sweat. She felt feverish again, though this time not from any illness.

"I don't think he needs that much protection," K said.

The hunchbacked fire lord, alive with yellow and orange flames, glided across the bridge onto the middle platform. At the very center of the demon, where any living creature's heart should have been, burned a deep red fire.

"That's the ember. That's what you need to get."

"I'll be burned alive."

"I can protect you with a buffering spell long enough to get you into position. Drink this Fire Resistance potion just before you take the ember." Kthae handed over a vial of pink effervescent liquid. "Oh, and you have to get it while he's still alive."

"What?"

"If you don't, the flame will be extinguished and useless to the druids."

"Suggestions on how I'm supposed to do that?"

Kthae punched the air with her fist, gripped an invisible object in her long, slender fingers, and pulled. "Once you get it, then you can kill him."

Groaning, Rumer replaced her trusty daggers with a set of brass knuckles she only used when someone complained about her not fighting fair. Never one to leave an enemy alive, she was skeptical on how well this would work. Fire Resistance potion or not, thrusting her fist into a wall of fire just didn't seem practical. But if it was the only way to get across the platform and out the other door, she would just have to suck it up.

"All right, Druid. Buff me up."

Kthae cast her spell of protection, and Rumer slipped into stealth mode.

"Be ready to run as soon as I grab the ember. That thing won't live much longer, and the Dwarves will be here any minute."

As quickly as she could, the rogue crept along the narrow bridge to the center platform. Incendius was even more hideous up close. A nasty flaming overbite and licks of fire reaching out like sharpened claws.

Despite the buff, sweat trickled down Rumer's face, stinging her eyes. Luckily, sight wasn't the only sense she relied on. The heat became infinitesimally more bearable and the crackling quieter. The fire lord was heading back to his perch on the farthest platform.

It was now or never. Sneaking up behind him, she downed the potion and thrust her fist deep inside his core. Lord Incendius writhed and screamed. Now out of stealth mode, Rumer was flung about as she fished around for the ember. Finally grabbing onto something solid, she clutched it in her hand and yanked it out.

Flaming claws swiped at her, not tearing the flesh but charring the skin several layers down. K healed her as quickly as she could, which wasn't quick enough for Rumer's taste, and cast Moonfire spells down upon the demon.

Incendius grabbed the rogue and hurled her away. She skidded across the bridge and felt herself sliding off. At the last desperate second, her fingernails gripped into the mortared cracks between the stones and held on while her legs swung wildly.

"Rumer!" K yelled in terror.

As she dangled, Rumer caught a glimpse of the pit below. There was no bottom, just an endless fall through flames and fire.

The door to the entrance burst open and in raced the army of Dark Iron Dwarves accompanied by more fire elementals. K looked back in horror and ran toward the inner platform. "Get up!"

The druid's head appeared over the edge of the bridge as she thrust her hand down. Rumer grabbed it and sprung up.

"Get back!" she said and pushed K back.

Incendius called upon the element of fire and cast his most deadly spell. Pillars of flame shot up from the platform in random fashion, and Rumer ducked and darted around them until she was face to face with him. She shivved again and again until his rage finally ceased and he collapsed into a pile of smoldering coal on the stone floor.

"Do you have it?" Kthae breathed as she ran up to her.

Rumer held up the glowing ember and placed it in the protective sconce the druid held up.

With one look across the cavern into the steely Dwarven faces, the two Night Elves raced across the bridge. The rogue looked back once more and saw the slayed fire lord gathering oxygen, sparking back to life. He burned brighter, hotter, until he grew into his massive hunchbacked form.

"Incendius just respawned!"

"Yeah, he tends to do that. Just run!"

A final surge of adrenaline overtook them, and they threw themselves through the exit, not stopping until they were safely on the other side of Blackrock Mountain.


End file.
